


Race Weekend in Monte Carlo

by Miss_Murdered



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Fast Cars, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Murdered/pseuds/Miss_Murdered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heero Yuy is the former Formula 1 World Champion making a comeback after injury but his return to the sport has been complicated by his new teammate and rival Duo Maxwell. At the famous Monaco Grand Prix in Monte Carlo, the tension heats up and their rivalry threatens to spin out of control. AU.1x2x1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday - The Interview

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing obviously but also none of the brands mentioned or have any affiliation to Formula 1 as if I did, I'd be hella rich…
> 
> This fic is set in the world of Formula 1 racing and while I have done an extensive amount of research to try and bring the world to life, this is a work of fan fiction so not everything is entirely accurate and there is copious amounts of artistic license going on. This idea came from the many rivalries between drivers throughout the history of Formula 1 from the famous Senna/Prost to the more recent Alonso/Hamilton and was an excuse to write sex, fancy locations and fast cars...
> 
> Thanks to ELLE who midwifed and beta-d this little project.

For those people who were not a Formula 1 driver, a part of the team, part of the relentless press or the contingent of passionate fans, Thursday was not part of the race weekend. Those people probably assumed that a Formula 1 driver's job was made up of driving around a circuit once every few weeks for a two-hour race and nothing much else. But there was a lot more to the life than that and Thursday was just the start for the driver. In fact, the crew had arrived days before, reassembling cars, collecting data on the track and generally giving their team drivers the best chance once they arrived.

Thursday was Heero Yuy's least favourite day of his race weekend. It was the day he barely spent any time with his damn car – the reason he was a driver – and instead, he was forced to sit in interviews, look at data and attend sponsorship parties to keep the team owners of Winner Racing on his side. It was a day that tested his patience even though this weekend was Monte Carlo. Even though this was  _his_ damn circuit – the Monaco Grand Prix – a circuit he loved to race even more than Suzuka despite his Japanese background and the level of fan hysteria that winning on home soil produced. Monaco was the circuit kids who wanted to be racing drivers dreamed about. It was one he'd learnt to dream about – the first race his father ever won. The one circuit he'd fucked up on. Twice. It would not happen again.

He'd arrived and checked into the hotel, making sure he was dressed as he should be: Oakleys, his team shirt with every sponsor – Mobil, Red Bull, UPS, ING and more – his TAG Heuer watch secured around his wrist as the press took their first pictures of him. Heero knew that he was the one driver everyone wanted to speak to this weekend and he knew he had it coming but he'd agreed with the team's PR – a perky girl with short dark hair who told him he  _had_ to do at least one interview this race weekend prior to the mandatory press conferences – that he would do one print interview to clear up the rumours from the Spanish Grand Prix.

So Heero was sitting in the hotel suite, trying to look relaxed, trying to look like he vaguely wanted to do the interview. He knew he was damn intense and he hated the circus that surrounded being part of one of the world's richest sports. He knew he was in the damn thirty top earning sportsmen in the world, that his sponsorship deals in Europe were worth a cool ten million and that he should show some good humour but for Heero, Formula 1 was not about the money, the glitz, the supermodels clinging off him with their breasts out – it was about the need to drive. That driving was in his blood. And he wished sometimes he was in his father's era – knew that Kazuki Yuy did not have to deal with the intense press coverage and the PR chicks and doing the right thing all the time.

The hotel suite overlooked the harbour, the circuit itself already ready for the cars and Heero looked out over blue water towards the large yachts that would host glamorous parties this evening. He knew he had to attend one himself – the Cartier one as they were one of his many sponsors, the small platinum dog tags round his neck that could not be seen evidence of that. At least he only had to attend – show his face to the world's press and then leave as it was expected that drivers would leave early. They had their first of their three free practices early in the morning and then Heero could actually do what he was paid all that money for, received all that sponsorship for – to race in the fastest car, designed to his specifications and get the best time possible to shut up his critics.

The door opened and the PR girl entered followed by the only journalist Heero would agree to be interviewed by. He knew he'd managed to scare some of the press with his patented intense glare after questions that he did not think were appropriate or that he did not appreciate and he'd received some pretty bad press as a consequences. However, the hint of rebellion, of not playing the game had made him the "bad boy of Formula 1" and had only increased some of his sponsorship revenue.

He didn't get up to greet the journalist, instead, the PR girl – she was German or something, Heero thought but couldn't remember the name – pointed to the seat opposite and asked about water and whether they required refreshments, which both Heero and the man in front of him declined. The team PR would like to stay in the room as they were still on damage control after Spain but Heero had stipulated that he did not want any "team bullshit" in the interview, that he was going to be honest and he'd already officially apologised for his actions in Spain. And he'd done so grudgingly in person trying not to glare at his teammate who rolled his eyes at his lack of sincerity. Thankfully, though Formula 1 was a team sport as much as there were two people on a team, they were not meant to work together or even like each other and Heero made it very clear that he did not like his teammate. Not that his team mate liked him at all. At least he remained the team number one driver – the team principle whereas his teammate would always be relegated to second.

He tried to recall the words that his teammate had used to describe him after his insincere apology but the only bit he really remembered was the "fucking cock sucking motherfucking elitist prick with the world's biggest fucking chip on his shoulder." There had been a  _lot_ more but he'd ignored it. Heero looked up at his interviewer and tried not to look sour at one of the forced protocols of being a Formula 1 driver.

"I'm surprised you agreed to an interview after the last race, Yuy," the blond man opposite stated.

"The team demanded."

"Ahh, that makes sense. Want to smooth over the cracks, I imagine," he said and brought out the small electronic device, switching it on and placing it on the circular table between them. "You do not mind me recording?"

"No."

He knew how to play this and while he would rather not have any interview at all – especially not with someone he didn't particularly like – he knew that Zechs Merquise would be fairer than some of the more sensational journalists. And personal feelings aside, Merquise had been a driver, a damn good driver, one that Heero had raced against until a crash that they'd both been involved in last season. A crash that had taken Heero out for half of the season. A crash that had ended Merquise's career and relegated him to a profession in reporting both in print and on various international television stations. If anything, the blond man could say Heero owed him.

"Monaco," Merquise began now that the device was turned on. "This was your father's first race win twenty five years ago. Do you feel pressure to win this weekend in order to uphold his legacy?"

Heero was tempted to grunt in response and not give Mequise much more but knew he had to answer the question. He knew it was one of the many things people were saying – that he hadn't won at Monaco despite being one time World Champion and the anniversary of Kazuki Yuy's first race win was hanging over the race like a shadow. That Kazuki had died last year made it all the more poignant or significant or something. That's what the press was trying to say.

"I want to win as it is the race every driver wants to win."

The answer was bland but Heero knew it was more appropriate than bringing up some memory of his father and his legacy. He lived with the Yuy legacy every day. He didn't need to discuss it. If he'd not gone into Formula 1 then he'd not have that legacy, that shadow over him, but racing was in his blood, in his very DNA and he needed the speed, the control and the power of the engine to feel alive. It was all he'd ever wanted to do. All he'd ever wanted to be.

Merquise continued on the race related questions – asking how he felt about this year's new safety measures, asking him about the circuit and the potential weather conditions. Rain was a complete fuck over at Monaco but intense heat was a bitch. Non-racing drivers did not understand the intensity of being in the cockpit for two hours, the amount of sweat that left their bodies during a standard race and the G forces put on the human body. People thought they just drove cars. Little did they know the extreme pressure on their necks, backs and every other damn body part and the raw power needed to drive a Formula 1 car and become a World Champion. Heero answered as he should, being vaguely polite until the questions he'd been anticipating.

"Would you like to tell your story of the 'incident' at the Spanish Grand Prix? Your teammate has already been on record saying it was a little," Merquise glanced down at his notes in front of him, "'heated argument' but inside sources suggest you ended up slamming him against a wall with your hands around his throat. Can you confirm what happened between yourself and Duo Maxwell?"

"He did a risky overtaking manoeuvre that I felt the stewards should have penalised him for. I expressed that opinion."

"Expressed that opinion with your hands around his throat?"

Heero shook his head. "I told him that the move had been risky and could have knocked us both out of the race. I did not put my hands around his throat."

It was not a lie. He'd pushed him against the wall and put his hands on the other driver's shoulders, maybe a little firmly, maybe with a little hint of force, but he'd not actually put his hands around his throat. He may have told him that he'd fucked over his race, that he was an amateur from Hicksville USA and made an insulting comment about cornering as a NASCAR driver wouldn't understand that. They'd both finished the race and Heero had managed to finish fourth to at least get some championship points but he'd been on course for a podium finish. Second at least. And then the rookie fucking Duo Maxwell attempted that overtake, their cars aligning on the straight towards the La Caixa corner and the other driver should have given way at the point. That's what was supposed to happen. Heero had the racing line through the corner and Maxwell should have pulled up and let him maintain his lead.

He didn't.

The collision between the two cars was not enough to knock them both out but it was enough for the front wing of Heero's car to fly off and the debris to get caught in Maxwell's tires. The only saving grace was the fact that they were near the damn pits and that Heero was still the number one driver on the team. He was able to pit straight away, a new front cone and wing fitted to the front of the car whereas his  _teammate_  had to drive his limping car around the whole circuit one time until he could pit for new tires that had no rubber on by the time he got round. If he'd not been so flaming pissed at him, the achievement of taking a Formula 1 car around a track with a puncture would have impressed him. But then, Heero figured, nothing Maxwell did would impress him. At least he'd scored the twelve Championship points for fourth. At least his teammate had only finished eighth after his own fuck up to earn four. At least he was still marginally ahead of him in the Driver's Championship and after this weekend and if Heero won Monaco, he would be back to where he belonged – top of the World Championship.

Maybe he had been ever so slightly rash in his actions. He'd arrived in the garage two minutes prior to Maxwell as he was still completing his lap and he'd managed to forcefully remove his steering wheel and throw it back into the cockpit of his car. He'd removed his helmet, the fire retardant balaclava that held his hair away from his eyes during the race and weighed in, combing his fingers through his sweaty hair and had managed to be calm. Up until the point he saw his teammate pull in and he knew he'd lost it. Knew his race engineer, Trowa, had to pull him off before the team bosses saw but it didn't matter. The harm had already been done. The shouting match and the pushing him up against the wall had only been the culmination of the months of angry feelings he harboured towards his teammate.

Duo Maxwell was a NASCAR driver – not a Formula 1 driver, yeah, he'd driven Indy 500 and other cars but people left Formula 1 to drive NASCAR in retirement – the damn easy option. It was not somewhere to progress to – though Duo had broken the mould. It had pissed him off when they'd met in the boardroom of Winner Racing headquarters and the American had been friendly and damn likeable. He'd liked him less at the car unveiling press conference as they both stood under the harsh lights in their race suits for pictures and now that the season had actually begun he had even more reasons to dislike him. He was reckless on the track, he took corners too sharply, tried to overtake in places that no other driver tried – he was cocky with it too and was already grabbing headlines for his behaviour both on and off the track. There was a whole playboy rumour thing – the sort of media Heero had tried to avoid during his career – and it made him even more irritating.

"There have been reports of increasing animosity between the two of you. Is there any truth in that?"

"We are teammates. We don't have to be friends."

Merquise smiled. "You don't like him?"

"I don't have any opinion on him."

"He's been quoted as saying he feels he can win this weekend. That his car is in the best shape of the season. How do you feel about this?"

Heero frowned. "He talks a lot. He's not proven anything yet."

"He's only eight points behind you in the table in his rookie season…"

"He hasn't won yet."

"You think he will win a race this season?" Merquise pressed.

"You'd have to ask Duo Maxwell that."

"I'm asking _you_  as his teammate."

"He might if he stops trying to get himself or another driver killed."

Heero realised what he'd said the moment the words had slipped out of his mouth.  _That_ would be the headline – that he believed that the rookie driver from NASCAR was going to get someone killed due to his reckless style of driving. He'd been trained by a media team how to act during interviews and press conferences but it was something that Heero had barely paid attention to and now he was going to take shit from the team for basically implying his teammate was a waiting hit and run. It was not good.

"I'm done," Heero said, getting to his feet. "Write whatever the hell you want Merquise."

They did anyway – wrote about the pressure of his legacy, wrote about his "comeback" season after last season's crash, wrote a million things about him and quite frankly, the rivalry with Duo Maxwell was something else they could write about. Fuck if he cared. He left the hotel suite, didn't answer the questions from the PR girl who had waited outside the door about what he'd said, and went to find transport to go see his actual car.

The sun was shining in Monte Carlo, the circuit was his damn favourite but still, his mood was not going to improve until he was behind the wheel of his car.


	2. Thursday - Sponsor Party

The red carpet that led up to the yacht had a line of flashbulbs along it and Heero awkwardly stood for a moment to allow them to take the relevant pictures. He'd not discussed his interview yet with the team but he knew Merquise wouldn't hold onto that quote for long. It would be the headline of the weekend. The big story had been his father's legacy and the twenty-five years since his first race win and the poignancy of his father's passing last year. Now it wouldn't be.

For a second, he wished that he still had a woman on his arm despite the complications that arose from his various sexual conquests. He thought briefly about Sylvia "the granddaughter of the CEO of Formula 1 Management" Noventa and how she always used to stand next to him on the red carpet in the correct way, her long shimmering dresses and her jewellery distracting the press from his own appearance. He was dressed in the slate grey suit that Prada provided him with but felt uncomfortable in it despite not wearing a tie in the stifling night-time heat of Monte Carlo. The flashbulbs done with him, Heero walked up the gangplank to the yacht to be confronted by half dressed women wearing clothing encrusted with faux diamonds. Or real diamonds. This was the Cartier party after all and he was led onto the deck of the yacht where the party was in full swing, celebrities and wannabe celebrities vying for attention as a rapper performed on a makeshift stage and champagne was handed out by the women wearing the diamonds.

Walking through the party made Heero regret having to attend these events and it was not helped when he looked over to see Duo Maxwell standing near the bar area, lazily leaning against it and talking to a young model wearing a dress with a deep v at the front who was listening to his every word as if he were god. It made Heero angry. He knew Duo would attend the Cartier party. That he was obligated just as Heero was. Cartier was not his personal sponsor, unlike Oakley's or Prada, they were a team sponsor and meant that both drivers had an obligation. And while Heero's example of Cartier jewellery was the platinum dog tags that hung round his neck on a thin chain, Duo had obviously picked the famous jewellers most expensive and obnoxious piece – a large cross encrusted with diamonds and some red jewels – rubies he guessed. It was pretty damn ugly and ostentatious and noticeable as Duo didn't wear a suit, only a black shirt and dress pants, the shirt with the sleeves rolled up and far too many buttons undone, showing more than a hint of pectoral muscles, tanned skin and a trace of black ink.

He was already pissed at him from earlier today. After Merquise's interview, Heero had visited the garage to see his car being worked on by multiple mechanics. He greeted Trowa Barton, his race engineer, as he arrived with a simple nod as he stood with a tablet in his hand and noise deadening headphones around his neck currently not required as the engine was not being tested. Trowa, just as Heero, wore his team shirt, the sponsors covering him, and was flicking through data as the mechanics worked.

A Formula 1 car was a thing of aerodynamic beauty – low to the ground, light weight and stream lined. Heero walked over and touched the body of his machine, running his fingers over the bodywork in admiration. The car was black, white and yellow – the colours of Winner Racing and the number on the front said 11. He'd had a number 1 on the front of the car last season – before the crash and his broken ankle that required intensive physio and took him out for the rest of the season. Thankfully, he had earned enough points to ensure that he didn't end up too far down the Driver's Championship table but it still irked him that a perfect season had been fucked over by his rivalry with Zechs Merquise. Though he supposed Zechs had more reason to hate him. After all, his injuries – the plates in his back – meant that he could never drive again. Heero may have needed time to heal, time to train in altitude in Switzerland and recover but he'd returned to the car in winter testing and had been having a decent season – up until Spain and Duo fucked him over.

Trowa was probably the best race engineer Heero could ask for. It was hell to have someone loud in the earpiece as he drove around the circuit. Trowa's role was to monitor all the data that came from Heero's car, that came from the track and the weather and he monitored every other driver and was the one who relayed team orders and monitored what strategy Duo's own race engineer was implementing with him. It was a complex job, it required an analytical and calm mind and Trowa was every one of those things. He sat on the pit wall, his voice the only link to the outside world as Heero focused on the circuit, each turn, the G-forces on his body and the extreme level of focus required not to crash a V8 engine going at over a hundred kilometres per hour.

"We're nearly finished set up," Trowa said simply not looking up from the tablet. "You want to check the cockpit?"

"Yeah."

Trowa did not need to tell the mechanics working on the car to leave the vehicle alone – they had seen enough of Heero to know the moments to move away and they decided this was one of them. They'd continued the tests once he was no longer in the garage.

In order to get into the cockpit, Heero removed the steering wheel and then climbed into it, sitting down into the seat before securing the wheel back in place and taking a deep breath. He wouldn't drive the car until tomorrow, until free practice, but as he sat in the car he suddenly felt a calm that he couldn't replicate in any other part of his life. There was no other sensation he preferred than being behind the wheel, the feel of control, the feel of being the only one capable of pushing a car that hard and the not knowing where he ended and the machine began… it was what he lived for.

No adrenaline rush, no sex whether with a man or a woman, no other thing in the world compared and he was sure nothing ever would. His mood, black from the Merquise interview, was considerably improved as he sat in the car and then the one thing that would darken his mood again happened. Duo Maxwell, walking into the garage as though he owned the damn place. He wore the same team sponsor shirt as Heero, the only difference being that he opted for the black version rather than the white to go with his camouflage shorts – he even wore the black Pirelli baseball cap that Heero tended to avoid wearing unless necessary.

He hoped that Duo'd ignore him and go to his own car situated at the other side of the garage as they had not seen each other since Spain. They'd both been to testing at Winner Racing Headquarters – both been for physicals – but Heero had asked his Personal Assistant to ensure his were arranged so that he didn't have to see Duo and potentially punch him in the face. Yeah, he'd apologised before they'd left Spain but he knew Duo hadn't accepted his apology and Heero had every intention of not repeating it.

"How's it hanging 'Ro? Ready to be out qualified on Saturday?"

Heero glared out of the cockpit of his car at the cocky comment and was tempted to get out and do what he'd intended to do at the garage in Spain before he'd been pulled off him by Trowa. He could see Trowa look up from the tablet but Duo just laughed and walked to his own side of the garage, giving him a little salute as he passed. Heero just gritted his teeth, removed his steering wheel and hopped out of the car.

"Heero," Trowa said, "he's just trying to get in your head."

Fuck, he knew that but somehow he'd succeeded. Succeeded every time since they'd become teammates – that smirk, that voice – the way he seemed to swagger into Formula 1 without any damn hardship. That it wasn't like Heero's own journey – not full of expectation and knockbacks and his father beside him pressuring him every step of the way. At least until he died.

"I know, damn it," he replied – his jaw clenched and he felt the brush of Trowa's hand on his shoulder and looked up at his race engineer.

In hindsight, it was a shame they were no longer casually fucking as Trowa had been someone that the whole experience was easy with. It wasn't complicated like when he'd dated Sylvia and wrapped up in events and looking the right way. But then, Trowa was his race engineer and if they'd been found out Heero was damn sure that Trowa would've lost his job. Heero might have been reprimanded and fined for the encounters but Trowa would've been fired under a storm cloud and he couldn't do that to someone he relied on so heavily.

"Don't let him," Trowa said quietly. "We've done the upgrades to the car – you got the upgrades to DRS this weekend. He's not getting them until next race."

The DRS – Drag Reduction System – had been a little problematic in both Winner Racing cars and the upgrade meant that Heero's car would be able to overtake more readily than Duo's. 'Least he was still the number one driver and got the first pick of the new technology.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem, Heero."

Heero hadn't been sure what he'd been thanking Trowa for – whether for the alterations on the car or his composure and ability to get him to calm the fuck down but now that he was at the party, those feelings had returned.

Seeing Duo on the yacht brought back that irritation – those snide comments, that smirk and that devil may care attitude. And when Duo turned, he pointed in his direction with his hand like a gun, cocking it and pulling it in an imitation of firing it with a wink and it irritated him even more. He could not drink at the party being that he was driving a Formula 1 car in the morning but he felt like claiming a glass of the passing champagne to relieve some of the tension.

"You look tense," a female voice said.

Heero turned to the woman who had sidled up beside him and looked her up and down critically. Her hair was long, far too long and platinum and he knew he'd seen her somewhere before. Her skin was pale, her eyes a strange colour and she had distinctive eyebrows that were vaguely memorable. She wore a dress that seemed to defy all logic – tight fitting, pushing breasts up and out, accentuating her curves and she gave him a small half smile cocking her head.

"You don't remember me?" she asked.

"Should I?"

He wasn't attempting to be rude but he was distracted looking over at Duo who had made some comment or joke that resulted in the model next to him to laughing hysterically and as their eyes flashed, meeting across the deck, Heero had the suspicious feeling that the joke may have been about him.

"Dorothy Catalonia…" she said, offering her hand in some weird tradition that seemed obsolete. He took it, feeling the softness of her skin before she returned it to holding her champagne flute with both hands. "We met backstage at the Victoria Secret Fashion show… I wasn't wearing very much at the time."

"I remember," he replied – suddenly able to locate the memory now that he'd turned his gaze over to her rather than looking at Duo.

"I know under usual circumstances you'd get drunk," she said, her mouth suddenly close to his ear so that she could speaker quieter. "But I could suggest another way of releasing that… tension…"

The tone of her voice was one Heero had heard plenty of times during his career – he was not one of the richest sportsmen in the world to go without being constantly propositioned by models, actresses and the latest pop sensation but he rarely indulged in the offers he received. Heero was sure as hell no virgin and certainly had a long list of conquests of both sexes but during a race weekend he was meant to be focused. However, he glanced over to see Duo again and only nodded in response to Dorothy.

She raised one of her distinctive eyebrows and then put her own glass of champagne on a passing tray held by one of the many waitresses that passed. She began to walk away, the sway of her hips exaggerated by the large black heels, the red soles defining them as a designer brand that Heero had seen before on women but did not know which they were. Seeing that he hadn't moved, she turned around and mouthed the word "coming" and he looked one more time to Duo before following her.

Dorothy knew more about the yacht than Heero did as she led him to a bathroom that was panelled in shining wood, a large mirror above a sink, and she pressed him up against the counter, rubbing against him in a manner that was meant to be sensual and arousing. It wasn't working, he still felt the tension and the angry feeling in his gut at Duo… at his blue eyes, at the way he smirked, at the way he had to wear a shirt that revealed a lot of damn skin.

She moved to kiss him and Heero moved his face to the side to avoid the move.

"No kissing," he said, simply.

"Wow… we really are the bad boy, aren't we?" she said teasingly. "Don't worry, I'm sure I can use other methods…"

A hand was at his crotch, caressing through the material of the Prada pants, the pressure there feeling better and he closed his eyes, leaned his head back a little as she continued the rubbing with her palm. Her mouth didn't try to get near his lips, instead, they were on his throat, licking and suckling at a patch of flesh. At least he wore a race suit. There would not be any sign of a hickey. He'd wear the polo shirt for press – keep the collar up in case the small mark on his throat would cause some sensational stories about his sex life.

"There," she said, satisfaction in her tone as he was now nearly fully hard under her determined touch.

Heero opened his eyes to watch the next part. She began to undo his belt, reach for the button and carefully pull down the zipper – if he was a cruder guy he might've commented about her knowledge and her care at her task but he didn't.

Instead, he watched as her hand touched him through the thin material of boxer briefs, the Calvin Klein's he'd been provided with after being persuaded to do the only underwear modelling shoot he'd ever do. The shots weren't bad, the shoot had been largely painless, a lot of looking off into the distance and holding particular poses that showed off the body he had attained by years of work and maintained by hours of work in the gym and altitude running and resistance swimming.

"My, my… someone is very tense."

Heero growled. The talk was not helping and he really wanted to tell her to get on with the damn blowjob but then it probably was not the best thing to get angry at the chick that was about to suck his dick. She gave him what he guessed was meant to be a sensual smile and a wink before she rubbed herself down his body and settled down on her knees in front of him, sweeping that ridiculous long hair to the side in order to better see the task she was about to accomplish.

Her fingers teased over the fabric and then went to the waistband of the briefs, her mouth close enough to his erection that he could feel the moist heat but not quite…

He closed his eyes as she delved further into his underwear, one hand pushing the cotton down and the other reaching for his cock, bringing it straight out in front of her mouth. He felt the stands of her hair as she moved forward and it made him think of Duo and why the fuck he had long hair. It didn't make sense to have that braid as a Formula 1 driver, it had to be damn difficult to get under the helmet and the balaclava they wore to protect their vision and absorb some of the excessive sweat and he realised it was a pretty damn awkward moment to be thinking about his teammate. Here he was, a Victoria Secret model about to give him head and he was thinking about his hated rival.

It was truly fucked.

But then there was a part of him that couldn't damn help it as he felt the first contact of lips, of tongue. He knew he was more attracted to men than women – that he slept with women, he'd had girlfriends and tended to make sure he was seen with women in order to maintain his public profile and his vast sponsorship revenues – but there was something about fucking men he preferred. Even being blown by a guy was a more exhilarating experience – all about power and submission. And he could admit, at the very least, that Duo was very attractive man. He'd seen those billboards for some cologne brand – Waterfall by some fucking designer – where he'd clearly been naked or intended to be, his back to the camera, his body half submerged in water but enough hint of the small of his back leading to what he guessed would be a firm ass, the braid snaking down his back and into the water.

And it was a bad thought – but one he couldn't help – that maybe if Duo was blowing him then he'd at least stop with the smack talk and the sarcastic comments and at that idea, he unconsciously moved his hips forward, encouraging the woman on her knees.

He felt Dorothy lean further forward, her mouth opening and then stopped with the sound of the door being thrown wide, clattering against the wall, the noise loud in the small confines of the wood panelled bathroom.

Heero opened his eyes and realised their damn mistake as in his haste to get sucked off, he'd not contemplated locking the door and now he could only glare at the person who'd interrupted this moment.

"Well, well, well… I thought you were all too intense for a blowjob on a race weekend but damn… I was fucking wrong. You are human after all, Yuy."

"Get the fuck out, Maxwell."

Duo only smirked in response, his eyes drifting down to where Dorothy was now swiping the back of her hand over her lips as demurely as possible. Heero wasn't embarrassed as he could figure out where Duo's eyes were looking – he only he glared at the doorway.

"Naw, I don't think so… hot shot. Tell your Victoria Secret chick to get the fuck out. I need to talk to you buddy boy and well, if this is what I interrupted then it just kinda makes my day."

If Heero wasn't embarrassed about the scene, tucking himself back into his boxer briefs and suit pants, then Dorothy apparently was a little more perturbed, getting to her feet and giving him a small coy smile before walking past Duo who was leaning against the doorframe casually, a glint in his eyes that suggested his amusement at the whole situation.

Once she was gone, he closed the door and stepped closer, obvious anger replacing the humour.

"You said I'd getsomeone fucking killed, asshole."

Heero sighed and rolled his eyes dismissively. So it had already gotten out. "You drive too recklessly."

"Like fuck I do! Oh… and you're so perfect Mr-My-Daddy-was-Five-Times-World-Champion. Like you didn't fuck Merquise over last season…"

"That was an accident. I wasn't driving recklessly."

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ… I've seen the tapes. You should've given way. And you gave me shit for Spain… you're just so damn hypocritical."

His voice trailed away at the end and Heero just folded his arms across his chest in defiance, glaring at him from below his bangs.

"Well, fuck you, Yuy. This weekend I'm gonna beat your ass on the fucking track and do whatever it damn well takes."

"You haven't got the DRS upgrade."

Duo laughed at him and then raised one eyebrow. "Really? You're race engineer tell you that? Damn, maybe you need to ask the boss because as far as I'm concerned – we both got the upgrade. Seems Winner wants us both on the podium."

"You're lying," he answered, coolly.

"Hey, one thing you gotta know about me… I don't lie. So suck it, Yuy."

Maybe it was the snide way he said his name or the anger at the team potentially fucking him over – despite all the conversations he'd had Quatre Winner confirming that in no uncertain terms, he was still the lead driver – that made him go over the edge but then he did have his hands around Duo's throat and pushed him against the wooden panelling of the wall. He felt how hot Duo's skin was, his pulse underneath his fingers and the fact that their faces were very close together and he realised this was the first time they'd actually touched beyond a few handshakes and that moment he'd pushed him against the wall of the garage in Spain, not feeling anything through his race suit.

And those errant thoughts from earlier filled his mind – this close he imagined how hot his mouth was, imagined for some reason that kissing him would taste like cinnamon or something and the erection that had died down in the heat of the argument threatened to make a reappearance until Duo pushed him back, using both palms against his chest with enough force to dislodge him.

"Jesus fuck – you are crazy," Duo said, rubbing at his throat for a moment before looking up at him, his eyes pure rage. "As much as I'd like to kick your ass right now… I'll do it on the motherfucking circuit."

"You have no chance," he said.

Duo made his move to leave the wood panelled bathroom, flipping him the bird as he did. "Adios, asshole. See you on the track."

Heero left the party only moments later, splashing water on his face in the bathroom before slipping out without seeing Dorothy again. He really didn't feel like resuming their earlier activities – at least not with her. Once he arrived back at his hotel suite, he looked out for a second at the lights of Monte Carlo and then glanced down to the circuit feeling the frustration and anger of the day. Trowa was right, he reasoned, Duo was just trying to get into his head but it didn't really help matters as he was in his head whatever he did.

He'd stripped out of the suit and then contemplated showering but decided instead to just slide into the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets and go to sleep. He tried his usual techniques, all those things he'd learnt from sports psychologists but he couldn't drift off as his mind wandered to Duo Maxwell and the way his skin had felt under his fingers and how he'd looked as they argued. It had been passionate and pissed and fiery and everything that Heero was. In a weird way, it had been looking at a distorted circus mirror.

His mind wandered, his hand following as he remembered the lips on his dick and this time entirely not thinking of the Victoria Secret model who had been going to suck him off and instead, he let himself purely think of it being Duo. He'd wrap his hand around that stupid long braid and use it to let him know what he wanted, his mind conjuring up the image of him on his knees and smirking up at him in that smug way he'd seen too many damn times. And Heero wrapped his hand around his cock firmly, already hard, imagining thrusting his hips into that mouth that taunted him, laughed at him, argued with him and having Duo submit. He knew it was a fucked erotic fantasy as he knew his teammate was stubborn and unwilling – not even sure if he had any inclination towards men as he tended to be surrounded by female models – but it didn't matter as his hand fisted his cock and he came against the expensive sheets, feeling the immediate satisfaction of sexual release only to be followed by the moment of guilt at jacking off over his teammate and rival.


	3. Friday - Free Practice

Heero sat in his car, the monitor above him, his helmet remained on his head but his visor was up so that he could see the data and images on the screen in front of him. It was the third session of free practice and so far his car felt good – better than good, each corner the car responded exactly as intended, the ease in which it was required to go around the circuit making him feel like it was his weekend. Finally. A Monaco Grand Prix victory.

He was out pacing most of the field by a significant margin and had been quickest in first and second practice. The sun seemed to shine ever so slightly brighter as he sipped on water to replenish lost fluids and waited to decide whether to go out onto the track one final time. He didn't need to but as he had dominated the two earlier practice sessions, Heero wanted to make sure that tonight's story was about his racing rather than the tabloids discussing his deteriorating relationship with his teammate. Being fastest in all three free practice sessions would enable that – the story then turning to his speed and skill rather than his clashes with Duo Maxwell.

The team was unhappy – that much Heero knew as he watched the live feed from the circuit. There was to be a "sit down" tonight, a sort of reconciliation between them was being expected and the team boss had flown in to mediate. Quatre Winner was the son of the owner of the team but the father had little dealing with it anymore – the oil magnate focusing on his company at large and allowing his son to take over the more exciting and glamorous side of his company in Winner Racing. Quatre Winner did attend all the races but usually flew in on a Saturday, though this being Monte Carlo it might have moved his schedule up, but he rarely met with the drivers exclusively unless at a team event. It was a rare occurrence and it showed how much the rivalry had managed to piss off the team if they were going to be forced to play nice in front of the boss.

For a second, Heero wondered if Duo would be just as annoyed about this meeting as he was and his eyes flickered back to the screen to see his teammate's time on the first sector of the circuit. The street circuit, just as all circuits, was divided into three sectors that times were displayed for and Duo's black, white and yellow car was about to go through the first time marker. The camera crew were focusing on his car, one of the only leading drivers on the circuit at the time, and Heero could see the distinctive black helmet, a green scythe down one side in a tattoo style pattern – much flashier than Heero's own that just had the sponsor details on it.

The time went green on the bottom hand side of the screen. Green meant faster. Five fucking tenths faster.

"Only five tenths," he heard in his ear.

Trowa was on the pit wall where he should be – the monitors would be all in front of him and he would be getting the most up-to-date data – more so than Heero's own. Five tenths of a second did not sound a lot in the context of time. It was the blink of an eye, a tiny fragment of a moment but for a Formula 1 driver every tenth counted – especially in practice or qualifying where a few tenths of a second could separate the top five drivers.

Over the spell of the race it became more about seconds, minutes even between the drivers but during a race there was strategy, tires, fuel levels, human error and safety cars that all accounted for the differing times and bigger distances between each car's time. In the practice, in qualifying there was just the time posted and it was all that mattered.

In the scheme of the weekend, practice didn't matter as it was all about getting a feel for the car and ensuring that the vehicles were ready and able for the more important qualifying session on Saturday and then the race on the Sunday. However, to Heero it seemed like it  _did_ matter as he felt the weight of having something to prove and Duo had already managed to infuriate him once today by being in his hotel gym and being just  _there_  when he had decided to ignore him.

Heero had been woken up by the phone at 5.00 a.m, the polite French woman on the other line informing him it was his wake-up call and he had managed to grunt in response. It was not entirely the best way to be woken, especially when he realised the crusty stickiness that covered his stomach, thighs and groin area from his jerking off fantasy. The night before, after coming against expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, Heero had only rolled over from the worst of the wet spot and fallen asleep, relaxed and sated. It was only in the morning, waking up with dried cum on his skin that he felt annoyed at himself, annoyed at Duo Maxwell for just damn existing and annoyed that he'd acted like the horny teenager he had been rather than the adult who could have every sexual need met without much effort.

He'd showered, washing away evidence despite the fact he had an hour's gym session, and pledged that he would just damn ignore Duo for the duration of the weekend. The duration of the season if he had to. He was often described as the "Ice Man" along with the "Bad Boy" and he could exploit both of those nicknames and just not let Duo get to him – unable to fathom why he did in the first place.

For a moment, he contemplated calling his sports psychologist, one of the many things that his father had said was a joke in the world of modern Formula 1 racing, but he figured that she would probably provide him with more questions than answers. Dr. Po had already discussed his need to dominate, his need to be so competitive, the level of expectations, the conflict he felt over the relief of his father's death at no longer having his over-bearing presence attending races and the grief of dealing with him no longer at his side during weekends. He could imagine her now, even as he dried himself off from the shower, telling him that his sexual fantasy of Duo was probably some deep-seated need for control that had been established from his childhood. Or something. It always went back to his father.

He supposed it always would. That he'd been to races in the womb, travelled the world his entire childhood and when it had come to that moment when his father could put him in a race cart – he'd done just that. Kuzuki Yuy had stood there for each race victory, Heero's journey from the carting world to the world of Formula 3 and then 2 until he found himself signed with the small Formula 1 team Alliance, driving his first season and ending up finishing regularly in the bottom five. The car had not been that good, the team not as financially stable as Winner Racing but still his father had critiqued each race, each performance and each moment that Heero's car had suffered from the infamous reliability problems of the lower level teams.

It had not been the best first season and he remembered it with some bitterness – it had done enough though, by then Merquise had moved from Winner to OZ Racing and that had led to him being offered the spot in that team. He supposed he had to pay his dues, he did that, one season of fighting a car around twenty circuits and trying to make a name for himself without every breath about him being "Heero Yuy, son of five time World Champion Kuzuki Yuy." His three seasons at Winner Racing had started to erase that – his first being his World Championship winning season. The second being his rivalry with Merquise that ended with his broken ankle and  _this_ season was the one he could finally prove something. His father gone, he'd paid his damn dues and now it was meant to be his time to walk out from that Kuzuki Yuy shadow and define himself as his own man. Silence his critics about his first Championship being a "fluke" and a "one off" and become one of the greatest drivers in history.

It was just his damn luck that this was the season Winner Racing brought in a cocky rookie from NASCAR.

Heero had dressed in his workout clothes and made his way down to the hotel gym and started his usual intense hour long spell of exercise in the hope that it would erase any emotional conflict and return him to his usual level of focus. Of course, when he arrived it got fucked over in two minutes as he saw Duo was already in the gym, running on a treadmill, ear buds trailing down to his short pockets, a heart rate monitor clipped to his chest and a wrist monitor on his pulse. It seemed that Duo hadn't noticed his arrival and Heero decided that he could work on some different equipment before the treadmill and ignore Duo for the duration in the gym.

They were always going to run into each other, Heero knew that logically, as they were teammates and the team had booked rooms in this particular hotel. So it made perfect sense that Duo would be in the gym. Just he'd maybe expected the whole cocky attitude meant he was more of a slacker than himself – less dedicated. Less determined.

It seemed every time he tried to ignore him, he couldn't – the more he tried, the more intense the need to watch. And even though they had only shared one glance the entire time in the gym, Heero had felt those blue eyes drift to him and he felt his own gaze lingering on Duo despite his intent and it brought with it the images he had in his head from the previous night that did not entirely help him prepare and train. Those thoughts did not help him now, sitting in his car, in the heat of the garage, waiting to decide whether to go out again in his own vehicle.

Heero watched the feeds as Duo's car effortlessly took corners, the helmet moving sharply from side to side on each corner as the power of 3 or 4 G forces hit as he rounded the trickier elements of the track. The tires rode up the edge of the curbs in order to gain a precious few tenths of a second until it went through the famous Tunnel, the camera angle changing and it would only be a few seconds until the next sector would be complete and the time would be posted on the screen in front of calculating blue eyes.

"He lost time," Trowa said in his ear. "He didn't take the Hairpin well."

"He could make it up."

Heero had nothing else to say as the time had flashed up green despite him losing two tenths around the second section of the circuit. It still made him the fastest driver on the track today. Faster than any of Heero's times and though Duo could still lose it on the last sector, the fact that he had managed to maintain a lead over Heero's own time for the circuit so far showed a level of skill and ability that was unsettling. It was meant to be  _his_ damn weekend.

The team mechanics were stood underneath a large screen, a few anxiously looking on at Duo's progress and it was not hard to see that despite Duo being the recent addition to the team most of the mechanics had a preference for the American – the charming one, the funny one, the one that got to know people's names and bothered to talk to them. Heero knew he wasn't a team player – Trowa had mentioned it on occasion, that he should get his head out of his ass as it was better to have the mechanics on side than be a douche but still, Heero found it hard to play along and it was inevitable that they would all like Duo better. He could deal with it.

He turned back to look at his own monitor as the Winner Racing car approached Rascasse and then went straight through the Anthony Nough corner immediately afterwards, his head jostling from side to side and then finally the car was on the last straight – the finish line in sight. The final lap time.

The car crossed the finish line without the fanfare that would happen after qualifying or the checkered flag of race victory – there was no sign of celebration from the cockpit as Duo's car crossed the line and his time flashed green, confirming him temporarily as the first placed driver.

"You want to go back out."

It wasn't a question from Trowa, it was a statement, even as Heero's eyes narrowed looking at the times of the other drivers and his own. A few of the other better drivers had posted decent times but still their pace was not competitive against the Winner Racing vehicles. He didn't anticipate that he could be knocked from second place with the drivers currently on the track and the fact that there was little time left in the practice session meant he had to make the decision of whether to go back out immediately. He saw Mueller's time on the screen – fourth, Chang's third and Otto seventh but three tenths comfortably behind.

Yeah, Heero wanted to go back out but only to prove something and he sure as shit didn't know if he would be able to at that moment. And it didn't matter. He'd had three good practice sessions – his car was perfect, his times were good and Duo had done  _one_ good lap – he could let him have that.

He made his decision, removed his steering wheel and hopped out of the car, taking a second to take off his helmet and remove his balaclava. It was no use going back out – his time could be used analysing his own lap, Duo's lap and working out how his teammate had managed to cut those precious tenths off his time around the circuit and use his own style to fuck him over when it did matter. Claim pole position at the front of the grid. Be like his father twenty five years before.

"No, let him have tonight, Trowa," Heero said.

There was a sharp inhale of breath but he didn't hear his race engineer's response as he removed the small ear piece and threw that back towards the cockpit of the car. It would take Trowa a few minutes to find him as he left the garage since he was on the pit wall still – probably anticipating another lap from the former World Champion but instead, he was unzipping his race suit down to his waist and walking towards the trailers that made up the temporary day time escapes for the drivers between practice sessions. He would leave before the other car arrived back, before he could see the triumphant Duo Maxwell gloating over his fastest time. In his head he could already imagine the smile on his face, that quirk of lips, the way his hair would be sticking to his face due to the sweat and heat – looking very much like Heero thought he'd look just fucked but he wasn't going to give him one more damn thought.

He would be civil at the "sit down" – he'd let Duo have his glory today and after studying his laps and car data, he would crush him tomorrow in qualifying.

 


	4. Friday - the Sit Down

It was Friday night in Monte Carlo. There were sponsorship parties to attend, most of the celebrities and famous race fans having arrived for the Friday night parties and the harbour would be alight, a hundred yachts full of people. In fact, despite his intolerance and general attitude towards parties, Heero actually would've preferred to be at one of those rather than on the roof terrace of the Fairmont Hotel for a "sit down" with his team boss and his teammate. He would've only been required to stand in front of some paparazzi for a few moments before he'd be harassed into having more photographs taken with various movie stars and company owners but it would be more tolerable than the meeting he would have to sit through.

It felt like he was being punished – being sent to the principal's office for bad behaviour and he was a twenty four year old man – not a damn child.

He wasn't surprised when he arrived to see that the roof overlooked the famous Hairpin and that the whole area had only two people sat at a table – the pool and roof terrace closed to everyone but them. It was quite incredible what you could buy with a lot of money and closing a part of one of the most famous hotels in Monte Carlo, one that overlooked the circuit, on the Friday night before qualifying was one of those things that the Winner family could afford. As he walked to the table, he noticed the bodyguards around the area, the constant security that surrounded the billionaire playboy that was the Winner Racing boss and he nodded in the direction of the large bearded man in greeting. There had been times when he'd been with the young team boss and he'd seen those bodyguards leap into action. They were quite impressive.

Duo was already there – Heero was not late, far from it, he was ten minutes early in the hope of speaking to Quatre prior to the arrival of his teammate but it seemed perhaps his teammate had the same idea as he sat at the table, water in a crystal wine glass in his hand, a t-shirt with a deep v down the front and leaning back casually in the chair. Duo had seen his arrival first, Quatre with his back to the entry of the terrace, and he gave him a small salute as greeting – he'd seen him do it before and it always felt like he was being damn mocked. It was not something he appreciated.

Quatre turned at that point and got to his feet. The blonde business man was dressed in the casual attire of the Monte Carlo rich, the pressed chinos and striped shirt and he offered his hand in greeting. He looked young, always did, despite being Heero's own age and it sometimes made him seem like he was playing the role of a rich powerful man – his clothes perfect, his security staff visible and his appearance refined but still, he was not quite convincing.

"Ah, Heero, glad you could make it. Take a seat…"

He gestured towards a wrought iron chair but it was a pointless gesture. There were three seats and his chair was next to Duo's. It had obviously been set up to get them into close proximity to each other.

The table was set with some food, fruit and appetisers but Heero opted for the same option as Duo, pouring water into glass as the team owner drank wine. The diet of a Formula 1 driver was as controlled as any sportsman and the heavy carbohydrate and protein based meals were selected by team nutritionists and on a race weekend Heero ate regular meals containing the required level of calories to compensate for the intense situations his body went through and nothing else.

"I am concerned," Quatre began, his voice calm as he took a sip of wine and then returned the glass to the table so that he could sit back in his chair and look between his two drivers with very blue eyes. "The worst outcome for the team is for you to have this… this rivalry as you are teammates. If you knock each other out, where does that leave the team?"

Heero didn't answer as he thought it was rhetorical – without any points would've been the answer -but it seemed Duo didn't think it was.

"I know we gotta think of the team… but you saw the quote."

"It was taken out of context," Heero responded, glaring at Duo through his bangs.

"Oh, so you didn't say I'd get someone  _killed_."

"Okay, okay," Quatre said realising the potential for the words to become heated. Heero could only admire that about him. Always so damn perceptive. "I understand that the Merquise interview _may_  have been taken out of context due to the history between you but Heero – you need to apologise for the insinuation."

He felt his mouth drop open the smallest fraction. He did not feel the need to apologise to Duo again. He'd done that before and Duo hadn't been gracious enough to accept it then – yet he supposed he had not been entirely sincere. Or at all.

"I don't need to apologise."

It took a second for Heero to recognise who was the most pissed at him – the team boss or the braided man sitting next to him as both seemed to be ready to shout something at him. Obscenities from his teammate, probably. Quatre was too damn polite for that. He coolly took a sip of water.

"Heero. Apologise. Duo is your teammate. You both are replaceable if you can't get along."

The threat was not said with much intent but there was a coldness in blue eyes that Heero suddenly didn't doubt. Winner Racing had not become the top team in Formula 1 by not being ruthless. By not poaching drivers from other teams for large contracts and big sums of money. And after all, Merquise had left Winner Racing when it became apparent he was no longer working well with the management. He'd been  _forced_  out with various rumours of his reasons. One of them was not getting along with Quatre Winner.

The young Winner heir may look naïve but Heero knew he shouldn't piss him off. Not if he wanted to retain his contract, his place as number one driver and even his place on the team.

"I'm sorry for my comments," he said in the most neutral voice he could manage. Monotone even.

"I accept your apology," Duo answered.

His tone was oddly formal and it felt stilted but it seemed to satisfy Quatre. Which was enough. He went through more reprimands, threatening both drivers with docked wages and fines if they continued to act in an "un-sportsman-like" manner and finally, once his glass of wine was finished, explained he had to attend a sponsorship event for Red Bull – one of the main sponsors of the team – and he would leave them to discuss their problems with each other.

He left with a warning, pointing at both of them. "Sort this shit out. Tomorrow you are going to act like perfect teammates. Understand?"

"Understood, boss," Duo replied with barely concealed sarcasm and Heero only grunted as Quatre departed, his security team following him.

With Quatre gone, Heero turned his cool gaze towards the streets of Monte Carlo below and the circuit that they would be qualifying on tomorrow, trying not to look at Duo.

"We could just fuck, ya know."

Heero felt his glare soften, his lips open slightly and for a second he wondered if he'd heard the words correctly. He turned to look at his teammate. It had been said very casually – Duo was leaning back on the chair, his head looking up at the night sky and his hand lazily draping over the back of his seat.

"But ya know, fucking ain't the best idea since we've both gotta race and I'm  _so_ not gonna blow ya like some Victoria Secret chick. So yeah, maybe we jerk each other off or somethin'. Unless ya wanna blow me but I figure you really ain't that kinda guy…"

The words made sense in terms of what they were but it took a second for Heero to figure exactly what was being offered and for those moments, he assumed it was a joke. A joke at his damn expense. He'd done that before. And sure as fuck he was not going to be mocked.

"You're joking."

Duo looked at him from the corner of his eye and then moved so he was leaning forward, his eyes bright against the night light and his mouth quirked in that confident smirk.

"I'm not pissing you around, Yuy. I know you were banging your engineer, I mean, fuck, everyone did as you ain't that clever… so I guess your interest swings both ways and I suck dick so let's admit there's this little hint of attraction in the rivalry thing and fuck it out of our systems and then we can get on with hating each other, huh?"

"I'm not interested in you," he said, trying to make his voice level and calm. "I don't even  _like_ you."

"Oh, Heero. You ain't one of those  _people._ Fuck, I don't  _like_ you but you have a hot body and I saw your dick and yeah, your whole intense shit is a turn on and you totally keep checking me out."

"I don't."

Heero got to his feet quickly, the chair making a scraping noise as he did and every word Duo was saying was persuasive and something he wanted but fuck, it was a race weekend. It was Monaco. It was qualifying tomorrow and whatever he was suggesting was just as reckless as his driving style.

This wasn't the way they were supposed to "sort this shit out" as Quatre Winner had told them to. It didn't mean there wasn't some temptation there but Duo was his teammate, his rival, he hated Duo Maxwell, didn't he?

Duo stood up, his movement oddly graceful and laconic, lazy even and he stepped closer – the closest they'd been since Heero had pinned him up against the wall of the bathroom after his aborted blowjob. He had that look on his face still, the way his lips just curved upwards and Heero didn't want to kiss those lips – had no desire for an emotional connection – but he couldn't help his eyes drifting down his body, to the way that the t-shirt was tight and the v neck showed firm pectoral muscles, a hint of ink, and he was curious about Duo's body and how he felt, how his skin felt – and it was bringing with it a reaction in his groin. Fuck.

"Okay, if you really ain't interested, I get it but I guess another part of you is," Duo said, his voice lower and it was then his hand had breached Heero's personal space and his palm drifted over his crotch – a quick touch that seemed just like he'd imagined. "Specifically, your dick is interested so let's not pretend we don't want to fuck and do something about it instead."

Words had never been Heero's thing – that was why he was so disliked by journalists and the team. That he was characterised as sullen and uncommunicative so he didn't respond and he only raised his hand to Duo's chest in some kind of defensive motion to push him away. There was no force behind that motion, no attempt to actually push him away and all it had achieved was putting his hand in contact with hot skin and thin fabric. Fuck.

"You're hard for me just from talkin' about this… you're seriously gonna pretend you don't want me to jerk you off?"

"We're teammates."

"Yeah, and you were fucking your engineer." He chuckled and leaned forward and Heero felt warm breath near his ear. "Let's not talk about what's allowed and the rules… after all, we're just 'working shit out' and if that's with your dick in my hand, that ain't a problem to me."

Heero couldn't help the gasp leaving his lips as Duo's hand was on his cock through the material of his Prada pants and this time it wasn't teasing – it was a firm grip and it sent a spark of arousal up his spine.

"Come on, 'Ro, what do you want?" A tongue ran up the side of his face and then he moved back so Heero could see the teasing look in blue eyes and he answered by moving his hand down Duo's chest, over fabric until he found a bulge in tight designer jeans.

"You."

"Yeah and how do you want me?"

His answer came out breathy as another hand joined the first and he could feel the belt being undone, the zipper being pulled down and it was a far more erotic experience than the Victoria Secret model in the bathroom of the yacht. She'd needed to work to get him hard – Duo just needed to suggest fucking and he was as eager as a fifteen year old virgin who'd not been touched before. It was pathetic really. But he was close enough to smell and there was a hint of sweat, hint of some cologne – probably the one he'd been paid to advertise – and something undefinable but masculine. It was difficult to deny anything at that particular moment even though they were on the terrace of the Fairmont, it was the day before qualifying and they'd both just been reprimanded by their boss.

"I'd want you on your on your knees."

"You'd want me to suck you off? Have your big cock in my mouth?"

"Fuck yeah," he said, it coming out through gritted teeth at the touch of hand on his dick uninhibited by anything.

His own reciprocated, finding a matching hardness in tight jeans and Duo's head went to his shoulder. He felt a sweaty forehead, hot breath and a hitch in his breath as he ran his fingers along the hard cock in his hand.

"Ahh… fuck…" he heard the muffled words against the collar of his shirt at his first exploratory touches, light and teasing but he knew his own level of articulation was not going to be that good as Duo's hand created a fist around his cock, the roughness and callousness of the touch, the hard tugs being more of a turn on than Heero would have anticipated. A hand job really wasn't meant to be this damn erotic.

"You want to fuck my mouth?"

"I want to fuck  _you_."

He heard the husky chuckle and then it turned into a low pant. "Yeah I bet you fucking do… you'd wanna have me all submissive and shit… begging you to fuck me…" Duo said, his words interrupted by hitches in breath as Heero jerked him off. "Fuck… keep doing  _that_."

His hand was now wrapped firmly around Duo's hard dick, his thumb had slid over the slit, collecting some moisture there before building up a steady rhythm that replicated his own masturbation technique and he heard the small moans and he tried not to make the same noises – not wanting to show just how good it felt.

It was hard not too as Duo panted against his shirt, the moisture of his breath through fabric and he felt himself unconsciously thrusting into the fist, replicating what he wanted to do Duo, his body, knowing that he wanted to pound into him, fuck him, use him, and then forget about the encounter. The hand wasn't an adequate substitution for sex but it sure as hell was working, his own hand faltering as he felt orgasm approach.

"You wanna come? You wanna come inside me?"

Fuck he did. He wanted Duo on his hands and knees in front of him, using that braid as some kind of leash as he moved against him – or damn, he'd take him on his back, biting down on his neck as he fucked him or even the image of him riding his dick, moving above him roughly was enough of a fantasy. Better than the idea of the blowjob, better than the hand job and he didn't need to answer the fact he wanted to come as he felt a hand reach to fondle his balls, a final few thrusts against Duo's palm and fingers providing enough stimulation to bring him to completion against both sets of clothes, a grunt his only vocal indication.

His head fell forward as he came, his grip loosened but then he remembered that this was meant to be mutual and regained enough composure to continue his own ministrations even as the last moments of orgasm shuddered through him.

"Fuck…" he heard Duo whisper, his breath hitching again, and he felt stickiness against his fingers, his clothing, the warm cum seeping through his own pants and joining his that had already begun to dry in the night air.

They stood together, Duo's head on his shoulder, Heero's head leaning against it, until they both had enough mental acuity to remember that they hated each other and Heero stepped away, turning his body, shielding himself as he looked and saw the inevitable stains on expensive Prada clothing as he tucked himself back into his pants, far too damn sticky, and attempted to wipe his hands against the fabric. He heard Duo laugh.

"I just jerked you off and you're hiding you're dick now? Ya gotta be kidding me…"

"Fuck you," he replied.

"Huh. Kinda thought we established you wanted to do that earlier."

He turned fully back to the other man, the similar stains on his jeans but Duo didn't seem annoyed at that. Or the situation in general. It now felt like a fucking mistake as he'd let him in – shouldn't have said his desire to fuck him and this certainly was not the way he wanted to "sort shit out." Maybe Duo could brush it off – he was casual, he was the one who made jokes and this could be just something he'd tell his race engineer and the pit crew.

"This never happened."

Duo just smirked and reached for a leather jacket that hung on the back of chair and slung it over his shoulder.

"Yeah, it never happened," he said and then winked before walking away. Heero watched for a moment as he did, how Duo did that slight swagger thing now. He wondered if he did it consciously or whether he did it purely for the damn tease but whatever, Heero grunted and turned to the edge of the terrace, leaned against it and looked down to the track.

There was a slight breeze on the night air and he felt it ruffle through his bangs gently and tried to close down, breathe deeply and focus but the techniques he'd learnt slipped through his fingers. That he was meant to be the "Bad Boy," the "Ice Man," he was not meant to even like Duo Maxwell but then… there was something about the way he felt against his skin, the way his hot breath had felt through fabric… how those words, crude as they were, had made him feel more alive than he'd been with any other sexual partner. Not even Trowa had elicited any of those responses and they'd been very compatible sexually.

"Fuck," he swore to no one.

And fuck it was as the whole encounter had not done what Duo had promised – it didn't fuck the tension out of his system, even the high of orgasm had quickly faded as he realised that the encounter had not satiated his desire for his teammate. It only made Heero want him more.

 


	5. Saturday - Qualifying

"The best way to win the race is from pole position."

That was Heero's father's few words of advice regarding driving. Considering he had been a multiple World Champion, considering he had travelled the world with Heero in his journey up to Formula 1, his advice was limited. His criticism, though, had been given more regularly. It was always said that Kuzuki Yuy had been a driver with complete control – that he'd been the epitome of focus, determination and calm. And Heero tried to live up to some of that reputation but then he knew he had a streak of recklessness that Duo had so damn helpfully pointed out. That at times he overtook when he shouldn't. He got frustrated. That he maybe wasn't quite the same as his father.

True, it was an obvious statement. Pole position meant that Heero would be at the front of the grid, his own sleek Winner vehicle on the racing line, whoever came second alongside him but on the dirty side of the track and behind by half a meter. It usually meant, unless the engine blew, unless a stupid driver error, that his car would be the first around corner one and it would ensure a lead from the beginning of the race. Then he'd be able to pull away.

In his head, Heero played through the race start over and over again, sitting in his car, watching as the five red lights turned on and then off to be replaced by the green. It was an exhilarating moment, the moment when the race had begun and Heero was in his own world then – seventy eight laps, over an hour and a half and nothing but him and his car. Trowa would be in his ear, advising, informing, relaying team orders but really, it was him and the machine he controlled. And it was the nearest he'd ever come to feeling as though he belonged somewhere.

"Engine oil in your veins," his mother had said once, a sad smile and a vague look of disappointment.

He supposed he could understand – being the wife of a Formula 1 World Champion had been one that she resented. Though the racing world had not been as glamorous as it was now, Heero understood before he reached his teens that his father had a reputation for sleeping with the models that had always seemed to exist around the sport and that faithfulness was not something he had done well. It didn't surprise him that during large parts of his childhood his mother took Heero to the races but did so without any enthusiasm and as Heero got older she would try to make him think about his schoolwork and try to persuade him not to travel to Sao Paolo in Brazil or the Nurbergring in Germany or Silverstone in Britain to watch his father.

Seeing her son do the same, even replicate that lifestyle probably stung. His mother didn't attend his races even after his father's death and she was often unhappy with the stories she heard. She'd been happy when he'd dated Sylvia – but then that had been nothing more than going through some motions for Heero. She'd been pretty and clever and they'd had plenty of sex but he'd felt detached throughout the experience. It was nothing like Duo.

Heero realised his thoughts were not helping him – that he was out on the track for the final session of qualifying and he was thinking about his fucked up relationship with his father and his mother and the fact that he worried maybe he was like his father fucking around with anyone who offered without any repercussions. Shit, he really should've talked to Dr. Po. Got something out of his system prior to the race. Knew his father was haunting this race in his head, knew that Duo and his whole casual thing had made him have an uncomfortable night's sleep despite having one of the best orgasms he'd ever had from a hand job. A phrase he didn't think was possible.

"How are the tires?" Trowa's voice buzzed through on his ear piece.

"Responsive. Good," he answered, returning his focus back to the circuit.

This was his warm up lap, the car at a lower speed, weaving the Winner Racing vehicle so that it picked up debris off the track in order to maintain grip around the circuit. He'd got through the first two phases of qualifying where cars were gradually knocked out with the slowest speeds so that in the final "shoot out" of the session, there were only ten cars left. Heero's was one of them. As was his teammate's. He'd seen Duo's times were good. Not as good as his own but wondered if he had some idea of making people doubt him and then pull a lap out of the bag. It seemed he'd probably like that drama. Of course, he'd been jerked off by him on the roof of the Fairmont Hotel overlooking the race track – he was all about being dramatic.

His car was coming to the end of its warm up lap, the final corners taken cautiously – more cautiously than he would do on a "hot lap" and Heero was at the final straight to cross over the line for his one and only final qualifying lap.

"Go for hot lap," Trowa said and he had the urge to tell him to shut up.

Heero was more than aware that this lap was crucial. That he wanted pole more than he'd wanted anything in his damn life and at that precise moment, he'd put everything into it. He'd not pushed his body in the gym that morning, sweating out every memory of Duo Maxwell in the intensity of his work out, sat in the simulator, sat with Trowa going over the track and where to pick up valuable tenths for this lap not to be perfect. And it would be.

Crossing over the line started the countdown and the car achieved impossible speeds as he reached turn one – Sainte Devote. There were no other cars in his area of the track, Trowa carefully timing Heero's exit from the garage to ensure he had free air and no other cars on his area of the circuit. There was a freedom to qualifying that wasn't replicated in the actual race – that in the race there were cars to overtake, some to lap, the other drivers' potential failures creating debris on the track, the safety car having to come out… but qualifying was pure driving. He was racing himself and his mind had now focused – he forgot about his father, he forgot about the pressure and he forgot about Duo and that little hitch in his breath that happened just before he came. It was now him and his car.

His car glided around the Sainte Devote, the gear change done via the complex electronics on his steering wheel, his head rattling around as the speed and change in direction exerted pressure and his tires slid up onto the curb to gain whatever potential time he could. He almost felt like he could hear Trowa's breathing in his ear but realised it was his own as he went down the next straight to Beau Rivage, a less intense corner but still applying more than one G force on his body. The extreme pressure he experienced made him think sometimes he should've been a damn pilot. Only other career where he could get this kinda rush.

Massenet and Casino were more extreme corners, the G forces increasing to three and he felt the pressure on his body, on his breathing, on his chest as he turned those. He'd experience enough G forces in his career but there was always something about this race – about this lap that he had to give damn everything in – that made the forces on his body more intense, everything more intense. The sunlight, the heat, the thrum of the engine and the exertion of each corner, of each metre of race track.

The next part of the track was a straight leading to Mirabeau and on approach he'd hit the sector time, the first indication of quite how fast his damn car was going. Heero could sense he was going damn fast, yeah, he had indication of that on his electronic steering wheel but there was something more to it than that. That he just  _fucking_  knew it was a good lap. That it all felt good. Engine oil in his veins.

"Fastest. Four tenths ahead of Chang," Trowa said.

Heero gritted his teeth at the transmission, a small grunt leaving his lips in acknowledgement but Trowa did not expect anything else. It was why he damn liked  _his_  race engineer. He'd had race engineers who'd wanted to chat during the hot lap but Trowa trusted his focus, trusted his need to win, to dominate and would only provide the information that was valuable. Four tenths was not enough, he thought, that Duo hadn't gone out of the garage when he left. That his race engineer was waiting for him to be the last on the circuit, to be the last person starting their hot lap and it would mean that he'd be the only one who could beat him once he completed his own lap. It meant Heero had to be on the best lap he could do. Had to do it in Monaco. Had to stop thinking about his father and his stupid bit of advice.

It was the famous Hairpin next and it briefly brought with it an inappropriate feeling and memory. The Fairmont overlooked it. That terrace where Duo's breath had been hot on the collar of his shirt, where his hand had been wrapped in a fist around his hard cock and he was asking him if he wanted him to come. The momentary thoughts flashed behind his eyes, his visor, and his breathing quickened – blaming the adrenaline rather than any passing hint of arousal. Though the feeling perhaps wasn't arousal now – it was more anger. Anger at his own foolish actions – about the fact he couldn't just keep his dick in his pants and how he had been damn weak when Duo offered sexual pleasure without any hint of embarrassment or feeling involved.

He maybe was a bit ragged around the corners, around the Hairpin, cursing himself for letting  _him_  get into his head at the wrong moment as he straightened up the car for the Portier corner and knew he'd lost a few tenths. Those precious fucking tenths.

"Lost two tenths." He heard Trowa and unusually he responded to his calm engineer.

"I  _know."_

He knew and he was going to get them back – through the Tunnel, the speed reaching over two hundred kilometres and the car being pushed to its limit. He'd get those damn tenths back. By the next sector time he'd be back up to four tenths at least. He told himself that mantra as he took turns ten and eleven – the Chicane, his head bobbing from side to side from the force of the aggressive way he took those corners and he knew he was close. Too close to the barriers. Too close the edge of the circuit. That he was letting emotions flood this lap – his father, his need to prove himself, damn Duo Maxwell and the "we could fuck, ya know" comment.

"Heero."

His name was said like a warning. That this was a reckless lap but he was approaching Tabac, changing to fourth gear, waiting for Trowa to confirm his time and let him know whether he'd picked up time against Chang.

"Six tenths up."

There was nothing to celebrate on that – six tenths was lot for damn qualifying but it was then Trowa gave him more information from the track.

"Maxwell's out on his hot lap – first sector time one tenth slower."

Heero really couldn't help the noise that seemed to come out of him then – it was a bit like a growl and maybe a little animalistic as he forced the car around turns thirteen and fourteen, riding up high on the curb, experiencing the three to four G forces, knowing that driving like this was what ended careers. That racing this close to the edge, this close to losing control and hitting the barriers was what got drivers  _killed._ His comments to Merquise, Duo bright eyed and pissed at him in a yacht bathroom and he was doing exactly the same thing. And fuck, it felt good to be driving like that. Driving with anger, adrenalin and barely contained fury.

The next few corners were immediately upon him, fifteen and sixteen taken with the same sharp tugs on the steering wheel as he focused on the last few seconds of his own lap – trying not to damn think of where Duo was on the track and whether he could make up the relevant time. By the time he got to La Rascasse, the car slowed to make it seem like he was barely moving as he lowered his speed to near sixty kilometres and then he was revving the engine up for the last few moments – the Anthony Noughes corner and the straight to the start/finish line. Accelerating higher and higher, increasing the gears, reaching sixth gear as his car broke two hundred and sixty kilometres to cross the line.

He knew it was a good time. Knew it in his gut as Trowa said those words.

"P1." Position one. Pole. He began to slow the car down and tried not to celebrate prematurely knowing that Duo was somewhere on the damn track but Trowa continued. "Seven tenths up on Chang. Your lap 1.13:872."

"Maxwell?" he asked, his voice calm, controlled, even though he could feel the blood hot in his veins.

"Can't do it. Have to make up too much time."

He wasn't going to damn celebrate until it was confirmed as he weaved the car to pick up debris off the track in order for the car to weigh in at the correct weight after his laps. It would only take seconds for that lap to be complete but he would not celebrate until…

"Confirmed. P1. Maxwell P2 - three tenths down."

Heero knew some drivers would punch the air at that news, would raise their fists or pound on the steering wheel as pole was always something important in the world of motor racing and in Monte Carlo, it meant even more. The iconic race. The street circuit. The only thing better would be a race victory but Heero didn't celebrate obviously despite knowing that the images on the screens of Formula 1 fans around the world would be his car, his helmet as he drove to return to the pits. His only response was to let a smirk cross his face, unseen by anyone else due to his helmet.

"Mission accomplished."

 


	6. Saturday - The Press Conference

"That was quite a lap, didn't know you had in ya, you know? Well, kinda not after last night."

Heero's only response to that was a glare as Duo leaned in to his ear, close, close enough that he could feel the peak of his baseball cap in his cheek and the hint of hot breath. They were about to go out into a press conference and he thought it was damn inappropriate to mention  _that._ Fuck, that would certainly change the press Heero got.

"It didn't happen," he said, finally, as Duo had stepped away, fiddling with a watch on his wrist that was for some sponsor. They were in a holding room near the hotel conference room, waiting for Chang, waiting for their own team's PR girl but Heero was aware how close they were to the world's press. He was sure that two drivers jerking each other off would be news even in countries where Formula 1 was less popular.

"Yeah, I know," Duo replied with a wink and before he could say anything else they were no longer alone.

Chang acknowledged them both, his team colours green and black, and he kept his arms folded across his chest. Some drivers, no matter which damn team they were in would discuss the laps and the conditions but Chang was not like that. He made Heero look positively talkative.

The wait wasn't long, the Winner Racing PR girl arriving to state that they needed to highlight how big this was for the team, and then they were walking out to a long table with three microphones. Heero took the middle one, securing his own cap with the tire sponsor Pirelli on as Duo walked past him, brushing unnecessarily so that their bodies touched and took a seat next to him while Chang took the other. Press conferences were one part of the weekend that Heero particularly hated – when he had to sit in front of thirty odd journalists, television cameras and then the random people that somehow ended up at these things. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, leant forward so that he could speak into the microphone and nodded in acknowledgement to the official from Formula 1 who would direct the questioning.

He saw Merquise front row to the left and knew that he'd raise his own quote if given the opportunity. Heero gave him a glare to which he only shrugged and seemed to pick a thread from the cuff of his shirt.

"That was a phenomenal lap – can you talk us through it, Heero?"

The first few questions were always generic and he answered them without any issues. Talk them through the lap. Tell them how he knew it was a good time. All that boring shit that few people would want to read. A few quotes may be taken from it but it wasn't what people were interested in – Heero could see Merquise was waiting for his opportunity, waiting to be given the go ahead to ask the damn question he wanted. It came after he answered blandly about how his father would've felt about his pole position.

"Proud," he replied thinking that it was what they wanted as the sound bite rather than believing it. He was sure his father would've pointed out the one moment he lost control, that tiny moment around the Hairpin and the Fairmont Hotel.

"You have been quoted as saying that your teammate would get himself or another driver killed due to his reckless driving style," Merquise began, looking at his own notepad as though he'd gotten the quote from somewhere else. Heero glared in response. "Have you apologised to your teammate?"

Heero stalled for a second, feeling the gaze of every journalist in the room and he felt like reaching for the water in front of him or something to avoid the question he was being asked. He didn't expect the arm on his shoulder, the contact of a hand on his skin and Duo to lean over in some kind of friendly gesture as though pretending they were best buddies. In any other circumstance he would've shrugged off the action but he couldn't. His eyes narrowed but he tried to remain cool.

"Well, he informed me that the quote was taken outta context so there was no need for an apology," Duo started, a little chuckle punctuating the end of his sentence. "And I totally get that Heero is under a lot of pressure with his whole dad legacy thing so I guess that he may say things in the heat of the moment. I mean, how often has my mouth got me into trouble since I started racing in F1?"

There were a few murmurs, a few polite laughs in response. There had been a few instances where Duo had said something inappropriate.

"No hard feeling towards your teammate?" Merquise pressed, his eyes hard.

"No, none at all," Duo replied with a wink, his arm moving back to his lap from around Heero's shoulders and he settled back into his chair ready to answer his own questions.

Heero glanced at him as he expertly answered as he should, silently seething as he was sure Duo was playing with him and he didn't fucking appreciate it as he got the assembled journalists laughing over some remark. If he wasn't being filmed and broadcast live around the world, he would've got up and left the damn place.

Finally, it was done and they were leaving, Duo going ahead of him and for a second Heero contemplated keeping his damn promise to himself. He was not going to let him get to him. Not going to follow him and maybe beat the shit out of him for the comments, bringing up his damn father again when it didn't need to be said. He was going to leave. Go back to his hotel suite. Rest. Go to another sponsorship event – do all the things he was supposed to and forget Duo Maxwell and his wink and his smirk. Instead, he followed until he realised that he'd gone towards the men's room in the hotel lobby. He looked around to check if he'd been followed himself and entered, hoping that Duo would be there alone.

He was – zipping up and washing his hands at the sink before he looked over at Heero, finally registering who had entered after him.

"We have to stop meeting in bathrooms, 'Ro."

"Why?"

Duo blinked. "Uhh, we don't wanna meet in bathrooms because it's kinda gross and people might think we're doing something else in here. I'm a classy guy. Don't want my rep getting outta control."

"No – that shit you said."

"That was nothin'," he said with a shrug. "Just wanted to give ya a lil credit, smooth this shit over, right? I don't wanna lose my place on this team over this fucking thing. I seriously don't wanna have worked so damn hard to end up at the back of the grid driving some piss poor car."

"You…" Heero began but his mouth felt dry. It was easy when he'd been angry as that meant he could have punched his teammate but this was a more challenging interaction than he first anticipated. "You weren't mocking me?"

"Hell no. Ya think I don't know that legacy shit? Jesus. I read, ya know. Lotta pressure. Easier to be a damn rookie without any of that, the unknown kid from the States who everybody hates," he laughed – not the mocking thing he'd heard before, a little chuckle that was deeper. "It's a whole  _lot_ easier for me."

Heero leaned back against the sink counter, raised his eyes to Duo and said the words he'd never meant before.

"I'm sorry."

One eyebrow raised in response. "Seriously? For which part? The killing people comment, the being a general asshole to me or the mutual jacking off thing?"

"Take it however you damn want." He felt it was his turn to storm dramatically out of a bathroom. He'd offered a sincere apology and Duo had not been interested. What more could he damn well do? But Duo stepped in front of his exit and it was apparent the "discussion" was not over.

"Naw, not so fast, Yuy. I wanna know the shit going through that brain of yours."

It was then he registered fingers around his arm. His eyes glancing down to where Duo's hand had wrapped itself around his skin and then back up to Duo's eyes. It was not a situation he wanted to be in – he'd established that thinking of his teammate was not a good thing and now he was stuck in a small space, the Formula 1 press on the other side of a door that did not lock and he wasn't sure how to respond.

"The killing other drivers comment," he gritted out, "and being an asshole."

Duo smirked and then the hand that had been on his arm was now drifting to the front of his shorts and he gripped hold of it before anything could happen.

"Don't."

"I thought you weren't sorry for the whole jacking off thing?"

Heero leaned forward, glad that the stupid baseball cap with tire sponsor had gone so that the brim of the hat did not get in his way as he spoke quietly into his ear.

"It didn't happen."

"It happened," Duo said, a jolt of surprise running through Heero's body as the hand he wasn't damn holding had made contact with the front of his shorts, the touch enough to bring a response from Heero's body almost instantly. A body that had been full of adrenalin and anger for most of the damn day. It was the only way he could explain the automatic response rather than he was acting like some horny fifteen year old. "And I think you'd like it to happen again."

It was difficult to deny that – he dropped Duo's other hand and felt his breath hot against his throat and those skilled fingers were already working at his cock through his clothes and it took a moment to register that it would be better to be in a stall at least. At least, not so damn obvious.

When Heero stepped back Duo was about to say something but he glanced in the direction of a stall and once inside, the door locked, the limited amount of privacy was more acceptable to Heero than the potential for someone walking in on them jerking each other off. This was risky. He wanted to say that but then a hand was at the button and zipper and he wasn't really thinking of the risks attached. He drove a car that travelled at over two hundred and fifty kilometres per hour – risks like this were what he needed for anything else to be comparable.

"I'll blow ya if you do the same," Duo said, his mouth on his throat.

"I thought you weren't some Victoria… fuck…"

He was about to quote Duo's own words back at him – that he'd said he wouldn't blow him like the Victoria Secret model had offered but then a hand was in his shorts and bypassed underwear efficiently and his hard dick was wrapped in a hand and that was about all he could think of.

"Yeah," he breathed as a way of agreeing to that deal.

It wasn't that he didn't blow guys – just that he didn't blow them as often as he received. That his relationship with Trowa had been good and uncomplicated because it was always equal, always damn swapping positions and mutual pleasure. It was just the fact it didn't mean anything beyond sex that meant it had been easy to leave behind without any thought. Maybe he was like his father – using people and leaving them behind.

But those thoughts were not on his mind as Duo slid down his body, feeling a half hard dick as he ground against him before kneeling on the floor. Least it was a damn bathroom in a fancy hotel, Heero thought in hindsight, as they were both in the team clothes of polo shirts and shorts and the whole experience of sucking someone off in a dirty stall was not something that was a turn on if you were kneeling in fuck knew what.

Thoughts though were soon banished as it seemed Duo didn't want to play around or tease him, which Heero was grateful for – he didn't need a tongue to run around the head in teasing motions or any of that. Instead he had open lips over his dick, a hand at the base and then the warm wet heat of a mouth taking in as much of him as Duo could. It seemed it was pretty damn accurate what he imagined – that one way to stop the sarcastic comments was having his cock in his mouth as he was silent apart from an occasional hum that caused vibrations that felt too damn good. Instinctively, he reached out for that braid, his own guilty masturbation fantasy now not just a fantasy as he wrapped it around his hand and looked down to see Duo's eyes closed, mouth open, allowing him to move his hips in shallow thrusts in and out of his mouth. That damn surprised him but then he wasn't going to complain as the movement in imitation of actual fucking was sending sparks up his spine and then the visual image was pretty damn good – seeing his dick slide deeper and then out of open lips.

Guess that was the advantage of Duo's whole "I suck dick" statement – that he knew what felt good and was experienced at it. He felt himself dangerously close to approaching orgasm but then felt that warm pressure evaporate, replaced by a trail of saliva and nothing else.

"Duo? Heero?"

He looked down at Duo who met his eye, poised in front of his hard on, and they both knew it was easier not to speak in this damn situation. It was the team PR chick probably checking that they hadn't killed each other due to the whole bubbling testosterone bullshit. She'd probably thought Heero had followed him to punch him in the face or something. Not that he was currently being sucked off – or had been until she rudely interrupted.

"Are you in here?"

Heero's breath hitched for a second as he felt a tongue just at the tip of his cock, the roughness and pressure of it making a low moan escape his lips and he could only glare at Duo. Thankfully, she didn't hear and whether it was because it was the men's room or whether it was because they hadn't answered, the door closed.

"Close," Heero murmured and he heard Duo laugh – that same laugh that had started this damn thing – and then it was gone, replaced by lips and tongue working his dick.

He could have specified that they were close to being caught but then words were pretty much useless at this point as fingers went to his balls. Duo obviously had picked up his responses from their jerking off experience and knew it was something Heero liked. Then he felt his body tense as a finger explored and he felt the brush against his entrance, the hint of it there along with the stimulation around his dick making his thighs tense, his hand tighten around the braid in his hand and his hips thrust forward as much as Duo would allow. He looked down, the image of Duo blowing him being the final thing he needed as he felt his body pulse, felt the mouth around his dick relax to swallow the cum and he tried not to make much damn noise as he came hard.

The warmth left his cock and he knew his breathing was not entirely normal as Duo rose to his feet, his hands brushing at his knees. Heero's fingers let go of the braid, watching it slip from his fingers and wondering why it was for some reason such a poignant image. He wasn't given opportunity to damn recover.

"Your turn."

It was then he did think for a moment that he could leave the bathroom – that he'd not actually promised he'd return the favour – but he wasn't a complete asshole unlike popular opinion. He pushed Duo towards the stall wall in imitation of the altercation in Spain, like the bathroom on the yacht, and blue eyes widened a little at the hint of force. He slid one hand deliberately down and felt that Duo was hard, squeezing the cock he found there, and Duo's head went back against the stall at the pressure.

"You're hard for me just from sucking my dick," Heero said, twisting Duo's own words from their little escapade on the terrace of the Fairmont.

"So suck me off, Yuy… shit… you seriously don't want me to beg you…"

He'd stroked through the material of the shorts, the roughness of it creating extra friction, and he could tell that Duo had been hard for longer than him without release so the stimulation would feel more intense. The little moan and the crudeness of the language had an effect that Heero hadn't expected – it made him think about what they'd talked about on that terrace. That he wanted to fuck him. He wanted to hear the noises Duo made – wanted him to say all those things as he was balls deep in his ass – and he stopped the motions through Duo's shorts, hands finding buttons and zipper as he went to his own knees, feeling the cold tile against them as he pulled down boxers and shorts enough to bring out Duo's dick.

He smirked and looked up, breathing on the tip of it and he could see Duo had no damn patience now – a hand went to the back of his head and he tried to push him forward. He relented, his tongue circling the head first, tasting the hint of pre-cum before he opened his lips and he heard Duo's reaction – a muted "fuck" as he began to bob forward. His own hands stilled Duo's hips, not allowing him the same movement that he'd been allowed. Heero wasn't going to let him fuck his mouth, he was going to have the control over the experience and he could tell Duo was torn between his desire to move his hips and to just slump against the stall and enjoy what Heero was doing.

Trowa said he was good at giving head. Something about him being mono-focused on a task that meant that no matter what task he was given, he'd put all his effort into fucking doing it and that was his damn theory on why Heero gave good blowjobs. It was a rare long speech during their period of fucking on and off and Heero had only shrugged it off, unsure whether it was a compliment or an insult. He used his tongue along the underside all while letting the dick in his mouth nearly slip all the way out before taking more in – using his cheeks, using a hand to stroke any part his mouth was not pleasuring.

"Fuck… you're good…"

He heard the words and they made him pause for a moment as they were said in a more affectionate tone than anything they'd done before and he felt a hand on his face. One was still in his hair encouraging movement but… fuck.

This wasn't happening.

The hand stroked his face gently, moving away bangs from his eyes, a sort of touch that felt intimate – that was more than something you do for someone who is blowing you. And then he said his name, breathy and low.

"Heero…"

It  _really_ wasn't fucking happening.

Heero moved back onto his heels, the hard cock sliding from his lips and he felt the hand twist tighter in his hair to make him move his mouth back forward but he said one word.

"No."

He dislodged the hand in his hair and rose to his feet, tucking his own dick back into his underwear and shorts without looking at Duo.

"You are not fucking serious?" There was clear incredulity in his voice. More than that. He was flaming pissed.

"Jerk yourself off," Heero replied coolly and unlocked the stall, stepping out without looking back, wiping a hand across his lips. He could hear more swearing as he exited – the sound of a zipper and clothing being readjusted but he'd already stepped out into the main lobby of the hotel and even if Duo caught up with him, he was not going to tell him to suck his dick in front of the press – he had his playboy straight image to maintain.

It took him until arriving back in his own suite, running fingers through his hair, that he realised he'd truly fucked up. He shouldn't have let it get that far. Shouldn't have been exchanging damn blowjobs and sure as hell, Duo shouldn't have been telling him he was good, shouldn't have been putting his fingers on his face, shouldn't have said his name like  _that_.

None of it should've happened as he had a race to win, a shadow to step out of – he had to be calm, focused and race ready. Instead, he was looking down at the street circuit from his hotel, punching the safety glass of the window in a futile gesture, and he realised he'd just walked out on giving Duo a blowjob because his hand had touched him gently, because he'd said his name like it meant something and for some reason that had been too much.

 


	7. Sunday - The Race

The Winner car stopped in the designated spot in front of the garage, the man with the familiar colours of the team on his fire proof suit holding out the lollipop stick that signalled for Heero to keep the car still while his team removed the well-worn ties. A hand wiped a cloth over his visor to try and remove a small part of the dirt and debris he picked up as he drove around the circuit. His focused remained in front, at the small red circle that indicated stop, and he felt his heart rate level off – the six or seven seconds required to change an entire set of tires on a Formula 1 car the only break offered from the intensity of racing the Monte Carlo street circuit of the Monaco Grand Prix.

He felt the jolt of the car as the tires were changed, felt the vibrations due to the low position of the driver's body to the ground and he finally saw the lollipop turn to green in an instant in front of the car before it was raised to indicate he could leave the pit lane and exit back onto the circuit.

It was a safe release, the mechanic picking the right moment to let him leave, and he drove down the pit lane slowly due to the speed limit and the proximity of the mechanics.

"Six seconds," Trowa informed him.

"Maxwell?"

"Close."

Close. Damn it. This had been the tactic – the strategy that he and Trowa had discussed. That today they were only racing Duo – that the other cars were competitive, Chang maybe had a chance, but really it was only the other Winner car that would cause him trouble and therefore his focus was on Duo.

The start of his race had been flawless. The whole build up had been uncomplicated – his gym session uninterrupted by staring at Duo. He figured maybe Duo did his own work out somewhere else or had got up earlier or later. It didn't matter as he'd avoided seeing him and that was the important part of the race morning. He didn't think Duo would be particularly friendly this morning when the last thing that had happened between them was Heero walking out halfway through sucking him off. Heero would have been flaming pissed being left like that and he guessed Duo would feel exactly the same.

He'd done his pre-race interviews, their actions at yesterday's press conference seeming to satisfy most journalists well enough that they started talking about a more "friendly" rivalry and he'd even been polite to the fans – both the rich and famous and those that had managed to follow him for autographs and a few photographs. There was a point he couldn't avoid seeing Duo as they stood by their cars prior to the start, dressed in their race suits, helmets waiting to be put on. Their eyes had met briefly but then Duo's face had curled up into what could only be classed as a sneer and he'd looked away after that. It seemed that he had found a way to piss him off completely. It hadn't been his intention but it had been an effective way of ending all communication between them. It was only once Duo looked away, turning towards his own race engineer, that Heero felt an odd sensation in his chest. He couldn't tell if he regretted his actions but he didn't really have time to think about it as it was time to get into his car and focus on his race.

Heero's race start was flawless. He'd pulled up to P1 on the grid after the warm up lap and stopped his car in the lines freshly painted on for the race weekend. Those seconds before the red lights turned on, the five lights indicating it was close to the race start, were the moments that he held his breath, tightened his grip on the steering wheel and focused entirely on the road in front of him. In his head, he was already around the first few corners, clear track in front of him.

He glanced to the side, unable to see the second Winner car despite its close proximity and then returned his gaze to the lights as the five ones red went out and then turned green indicating go. The race start brought with it a sense of calm that could never be replicated anywhere. It was as though the pure adrenalin of racing crystallised in a moment and time stopped briefly before the sound of the engine, the sound of acceleration and the feel of forward momentum brought him back to the present and he was driving towards those first corners and with no car in his eye line. A flawless start.

Now he was leaving the pits, driving at the regulated speed limit – his last set of tires on and no more pit stops required. He'd been leading for the most of the fifty five laps, only losing his position during his first pit stop as that had allowed other drivers to take his position until they themselves needed to stop for a new set of Pirelli's. He would lose positions at this pit stop as other drivers passed but all that mattered was Duo's position.

Duo had already pitted, already had a fresh set of tires as Heero had tried to stay out on the track for a longer stint, something he had discussed with Trowa, yet the tactic did not seem to have worked as well as they'd hoped.

"Where is he?" Heero asked as the end of the pit lane approached.

Trowa didn't respond straight away but then it didn't matter as he exited the pit lane's speed limit area and was able to accelerate to a more competitive speed and he became aware of the one outcome he hadn't wanted from the tactic, from his long middle stint on his tires. They'd calculated that by staying out longer he could gain valuable seconds in the clean air of being at the front of the pack but instead, as he drove onto the track once again, he saw the other car the same as his own in his peripheral vision and there was a moment that Heero thought he may be able to get to the racing lane and maintain his race lead. That moment vanished as he exited the pit lane behind the other Winner Racing vehicle observing the back of it – close behind it, but behind it nonetheless. Clogged up in the dirty air. Fuck.

"He did better on new tires than we thought," Trowa said, finally, his way of explaining.

Heero grunted, now in the racing equivalent of a dog fight, the only saving grace being able to implement his DRS that would help enable overtaking. However, it would take a lap and he would have to spend time behind his teammate before he could use it. He gritted his teeth, feeling the anger surge in his veins. This had been the damn perfect race. Up until this point.

They both went over the start/finish line indicating the beginning of another lap and then they were headed towards the Saint Devote corner, the required slowing bringing the cars close together despite Duo's lead.

"Five tenths lead – overtake once you can use DRS."

The transmission from Trowa was short but it was what Heero had already intended to do. He just needed to stay on Duo's tail, maintain a short distance but one that he could easily overcome and not allow himself to let his emotions override his ability. Not like with Merquise.

He wanted to shake his head at that thought – banish that memory of spinning, of losing control, the knowledge that he had no power over his fate, his car providing little protection from the impact of a vehicle with a wall. It had been the last time his father had seen him race. And the last time his father had seen him, Heero had tried to overtake Merquise and ended up slamming himself into hard concrete. It had not been a glorious way for his father to see him before he died.

He had known then that his car would slow over the grass before impact. The images flashed before his eyes. And then his father's disappointment at his actions... He may have been dying at that point, his health beginning to fail, but it did not blunt his disappointment. He'd had no sympathy even when Heero had been airlifted to the hospital. Only a vague hint of disapproval.

It would not be like that this time. They rounded the famous Hairpin, the decrease in speed making them bunch even further together and it was then he would be in touching distance of Duo's car if he could reach out. On acceleration they moved further apart but there had been another moment of proximity that seemed potentially dangerous yet also brought with it another feeling.

It brought with it the feelings that he'd thought he'd banished. It was not helping his race strategy to be racing Duo like this. Images flickering behind his eyes of the way he looked – hot, sweaty, aroused, his head against a bathroom stall and then how his hand had felt against his face, gentle and soft.

Heero gripped his steering wheel harder as they drove through the Tunnel, remembering that this was  _his_  race and not those confused feelings that had occurred after the so-called casual exchange of blowjobs – that made him feel something more.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath – fully aware that they could transmit his communications across international television stations and that Trowa could hear him yet it was how he felt.

His concentration had been flawless up until this point. Everything had been flawless but now his mind was not thinking of the checkered flag, the podium, the Moet champagne they'd spray over an expecting crowd and taste of it – dry in his mouth but reminding him of victory. Instead it was thinking of how he'd acted and how he'd lost that chance he'd had with his teammate, his teammate merely five tenths in front of him, and now he had to retain some of that control. Be like his father. Winning was everything.

"Heero," Trowa said quietly. "Stay behind until you can deploy DRS."

"I will."

He wanted to snap back that he wouldn't make a reckless overtake manoeuvre. He knew how Trowa had felt after that crash, seeing it on the monitors, that he didn't move for a short time and there was that awful moment of silence as people wondered whether there would be movement. There had been few fatalities in Formula 1 in recent years, the technology vastly improved from seasons where drivers died regularly but he didn't say anything beyond his short answer. Maybe they didn't fuck around anymore but it had been after that crash he'd started sleeping with his race engineer, as he helped him through his rehabilitation and maintained his mental acuity through time spent on simulators. The concern was probably justified. Trowa could see how he was driving. Could see the data and read outs and realised he was perhaps trying to overtake before he should.

Heero maintained a safer distance through the Chicane, aware that if he was too close he could perhaps make contact, and he followed Duo's racing line through the corners expertly. He wondered briefly how Duo felt. He'd been blind, unknowing quite how close the car was behind him as he drove, aware of the hum of another engine and he would know the time in tenths that Heero was behind him but would not see him. In some ways, Heero was in the better position. Biding his time for the overtake. And if Duo made one slip up under the pressure of the vehicle just behind his ass, Heero would show no mercy.

The rest of the lap sped by fast, the advertising barriers a blur around him, the car in front of him the only thing he could focus on and then he'd reached the DRS detection point.

"Under one second," Trowa confirmed.

It was what he needed. DRS was only available to a driver one second behind another car, the system meant to help overtaking and make the race more entertaining for the spectator. Heero smirked. He was under one second and now he only had to get around La Rascasse corner and Anthony Noughes before he could deploy the system and he would be able to overtake with ease. He wondered if Duo knew – if he knew how his race lead would come to an end as he followed his car around the final corners, the start/finish line straight, and he was able adjust the rear wings of his car and create less drag in order to increase speed.

He accelerated, his hands flicking over the controls and he saw for a moment that Duo was not going to give up the racing line – but it didn't matter. Heero swerved to the side of him, the added boost of the system allowing him to align his car with his teammate's. For a few moments they were side by side, then Heero's began to inch forward, seeming impossibly slow for a moment despite the high speeds, and Duo's car was soon being left behind in his wake.

He began to brake, aware that Sainte Devote was soon but he felt the jolt, the jarring of contact and then the slight slipping of control. Heero tried to turn his head to see, unable to in his helmet and the cockpit configuration and he had a sudden awareness that they'd made contact.

Another jolt went through the car. The vehicle, light weight and designed for speed, made sounds of protest and Heero knew that the contact was more than he first thought and he could then see his teammate's car in a spin, the 260 kilometres average speed of the start/finish line meaning that Duo impacted heavily into the barriers. Debris from the car flew in the air and Heero saw a tire roll in front of him, hitting the barrier only moments before he tried to brake harder – but he was going too fast to do anything but brace for impact.

The car slammed head on, Heero's head jolting forward, his speed not quite as intense as it could've been but still his whole body shook – the cockpit providing little support.

For a moment, he only heard his own breathing and felt numbness until he heard the panic from his communication line.

"Heero? Damn it! Heero!"

It took a second for the numbness to subside and he looked at his hands shaking slightly as he detached the steering wheel.

"I'm fine."

He watched as a few cars slowly came through the rubble the crash had created and then pulled himself out of his cockpit as he observed the track marshal's attempt to approach the two wrecks. His whole body had felt the impact as he carefully removed his helmet and he looked back towards the other vehicle. It was in worse shape than his own car, two wheels missing and parts of the fibreglass frame scattered across the track. For a second, his eyes drifted to the other driver and the fact there had been no movement in that cockpit made him feel something clench in his chest.

Heero wondered if this was what it had been like to observe his own crash. To see a driver unmoving in the cockpit and he knew he needed to get off the track but he couldn't move – a part of him wanting to cross the debris strewn track to see whether his teammate was alive.

A few more cars passed, making their way through the wreckage and Heero finally saw movement, a hand raised and the steering wheel being removed. It was then he realised he'd stopped breathing for a few moments, taking a deep lung full of air as though remembering the process as he watched Duo clamber out of his car awkwardly, removing his helmet just as Heero had. Their eyes met across the tarmac, both standing in the searing heat of Monte Carlo, both Winner racing vehicles trashed beyond recognition, both probably bruised and sore. It was not the way Heero wanted to end his race weekend in Monte Carlo but even though he hated that damn smirk, that wink, those shrugs, when Duo gave a small smile to show he was okay, Heero could only feel fucking grateful he was alive.

 


	8. Sunday - After the Crash

The knock on the hotel suite door indicated that someone had finally tried to make contact with Heero. He'd turned off his cell phone, unplugged the hotel's phone and put a "do not disturb" sign on the door. He was waiting for his team to contact him – to tell him he should attend events as his medical check only revealed bruising and the soreness that went with impacting a barrier at high speed.

He picked up the whiskey glass as he went to the door – it knocked again, persistent, and he wondered whether it would be the PR girl or maybe even Quatre Winner himself being that the weekend had turned out in the worse possible way for the team. It wouldn't be Trowa. He'd accompanied him to the hospital as he was checked over, x-rayed, and was building up an anger after the relief that his teammate wasn't dead or seriously injured. It didn't matter whatever the fuck was happening between him and Duo, it still didn't mean he wanted to see a fellow driver dead or injured. No one in the sport did. It had been a long time since a fatality and no one wanted it.

Trowa had come with him back to his suite, lingered silently and there was an offer there. They may have stopped fucking around some time ago but there was something unspoken between them. However, despite the frustration of his crash, of watching on a television screen as Chang lifted the trophy in the shape of the circuit and then sprayed the champagne over his team principle in celebration, he declined the vague offer saying he wanted to go to sleep early. Trowa accepted it and left, leaving Heero with a bottle of whiskey as he sat overlooking the circuit while numerous parties were underway on yachts in the bay. At least they stayed in a damn expensive hotel and the team paid for his accommodation. He thought of it as a big "fuck you" to Quatre Winner that he'd opened the expensive bottle of whiskey from the mini bar, drinking like he so rarely got the opportunity and feeling ever so slightly inebriated as he opened the door.

"It's you."

There were certainly people he would've preferred to have seen than Duo Maxwell at his suite door. Or at least, he would've liked the whole thing if they were still on the terms they'd been on the previous day where a friendly hand job or blowjob may have occurred.

"You gonna invite me in or you wanna do this shit in the corridor?"

Heero didn't respond, only opened the door more and started to walk back towards the chair near the window – where he'd had that interview with Merquise on his first day in Monte Carlo. When all the shit had started. When he'd made the comment about Duo trying to get himself killed or get someone else killed. It just hadn't occurred to him that it would damn happen and he would be the one Duo would be crashing out.

The door shut behind him and he grabbed another glass from above the mini bar with the intention of offering it. It was the least asshole move he could make.

"I'm not here for drinks or shit, Yuy. I just wanna resolve this so we don't have another fucking weekend like this."

He gave up on the glass, putting his own down and turning to face his teammate. He could see some bruising on his neck but otherwise he looked as though he had not suffered greatly in his crash despite how bad it had looked. It would be very much like Heero – he'd not suffered anything but superficial damage physically but then it would more his ego and his frustration at himself that would be more prominent.

"You have something to say?" Heero asked, realising Duo was awaiting some kind of response. "An apology?"

Duo's mouth opened and then closed before he composed himself before speaking angrily. "You want me to apologise?"

"You crashed me out. I would've won."

"Jesus! Fuck! I had you, Yuy. It wouldn't just have gone 'round for twenty more fucking laps, one of us deploying DRS until one of us got ahead and then doing it again next lap. We could've fucked around all damn day. You are such a cocky, motherfucking superior asshole who doesn't get that  _I_ could be as damn good as you – you –"

Heero could blame the alcohol or the close proximity of Duo, the way his eyes flashed when he was angry, the way he spoke and the way he was damn swearing at him but he didn't blame anything but long denied instinct as he leaned forward, his lips pressing hard against Duo's, halting his tirade almost as effectively as he could've by having his cock in his mouth.

It only lasted a second, he only felt the lips for a moment against his own as hands roughly pushed against his chest and the contact was broken – followed by a hard punch to his face.

"Do not pull that shit with me," Duo said heatedly and Heero met his gaze, gently rubbing his cheek where the fist had made impact. "You left me during a  _fucking_ blowjob and now you expect us to kiss and make love or something. You are so fucking mistaken."

"I don't want to make love."

Duo looked at him but he could see something in his eyes that was conflicted. He thought back to that first suggestion of fucking. Back to the Fairmont and then to the bathroom and how Duo had promised him a blowjob as long as it was reciprocated. He didn't want to make love. Maybe he did want to kiss him – that there was something about Duo that he knew that kissing him, truly _kissing_  him, would be too fucking good and it would be more of a crashing together than anything gentle and sweet.

"I still hate you," Duo said, stepping forward. "Remember, I don't even like you. And this will not be all your damn way. I am not a fucking conquest."

Heero didn't have time to comprehend those words as Duo's mouth was on his, hands went to the front of the team polo shirt he was still wearing and pulled him close to the other body. He opened his mouth, allowing a thrusting tongue to make its entry and he felt a shiver down his spine. Yeah, it was exactly how he imagined it would be and there was a definite feeling that Duo was sure as hell not going to be submissive in this encounter whichever way it went. The tongue in his mouth ran over his palate, his teeth, warred with his own and he began to step back, taking Duo with him, sliding his hands down to his ass and gripping it firmly.

He'd never really had the opportunity to touch him during the exchange of hand jobs and blowjobs. But now, Heero ran fingers underneath the vintage soft fabric of a t-shirt, feeling the way muscles moved underneath skin and it was better than he imagined. He sure as fuck wasn't sentimental about sex or sexual encounters but there was something about this one that was already becoming memorable. After all, he'd let Duo punch him. That had definitely been different. And oddly arousing. He wasn't used to someone arguing with him, standing up to him – the difference between the experience was obvious as Duo's hand gripped his shoulders, balling the fabric there as he ground his hips into Heero's, letting him feel that he was hard.

The kiss separated and Heero saw that Duo looked around his suite as he removed his polo shirt.

"Fuck, I need to be the team's lead driver if this is the swanky shit I'd get."

"No chance in this team," Heero replied and then noticed the appreciative look that Duo had of his naked torso.

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that." Duo's hands drifted over Heero's pectoral muscles, fingers tracing a few scars, and then to the firm abdominal muscles that fluttered under his touch. "Fuck, you have an incredible body."

Heero had been told that before but then the statement had never sounded so good from anyone else. "You want to see everything?"

"Hell, yeah."

He didn't feel self-conscious about his body but he moved away from those teasing fingertips and walked backwards slowly towards the bedroom of the suite, Duo following. As much as they could continue anywhere in the damn suite – Heero wasn't a traditionalist, the bed was not necessary, he could've quite happily taken Duo against a wall, the couch, on the floor – they'd both been in a crash and the bed did provide more comfort. Not that he wanted to get comfortable. Not for some time yet.

His fingers slid to his jeans as he walked, very aware of where Duo's eyes were as he followed. He slowly undid the button without making an effort to remove the zipper yet and he grabbed hold of Duo's jaw. "I don't want to tease. I don't want to play games."

Duo smirked as he met his eye. "So you just wanna get to the fucking part?"

He didn't get chance to respond to that despite the throaty "yeah" he attempted. He didn't want damn complicated. Relationships that had paparazzi and press and everything that surrounded them. He didn't want the complication of his time with Trowa due to his role in the team and the fear of reprisal. So when Duo forcefully re-initiated the kiss, it was easy.

The hands at his jeans worked down the zipper and he felt Duo's hand slide inside, stroking him roughly and causing him to pant while trying to continue to tongue fuck Duo's mouth. It was difficult as Duo already seemed to know all his buttons, one hand cupping his balls through the thin fabric of his briefs, the other stroking and working his cock.

He groped at Duo's shorts, the camouflage fatigues meant to be casual, and he reached for the button and zipper, fumbling due to the electric pleasure that was circulating through him from the pressure of those hands on his dick. Duo was fucking talented and was going to make him come far too quickly.

Duo's lips moved and suddenly he was biting at his lips and then running a rough tongue over his jawline trailing up to his ear.

"You owe me, Yuy."

Hands left his hard cock, throbbing, waiting for release but denied it. And then he felt the hand on his shoulders and Heero stepped back to sit on the bed knowing full well what he was meant to be doing.

"Take off your clothes," Heero said in a tone that sounded like a command.

Duo raised one eyebrow but complied, the t-shirt being taken off and the braid getting tangled in it before thwacking down on his naked back. Heero could see the bruising from the impact against the restraints and he leaned forward, running his tongue over Duo's taunt stomach, smirking into his flesh as he felt the muscles underneath respond. Duo's hands seemed to be less sure as he stepped away from Heero's mouth to remove shorts, underwear, kicking off Vans sneakers before returning to directly in front of him. Heero ran his fingers up Duo's sides, fingertips only, and smirked at the reactions his touch seemed to be getting – subtle jumps underneath the skin as he purposefully ignored the erection near his face.

"Your body's incredible too."

He damn meant it. Duo was lean but muscular, strong shoulders and arms, exactly how he imagined he would be from those promotional posters for that cologne brand. He had multiple tattoos in different shades of black and grey and he traced one, the skull, with his fingers, moving upwards until he was looking at Duo's face. For a moment their eyes locked, blue meeting blue, and then he leaned forward to take his hard cock into his mouth.

Hands rested on his naked shoulders, gripping him hard and he didn't want it any other way as he slid his lips down the length of Duo's dick, his tongue working on the underside as he bobbed his head forward wringing a gasp of pleasure from Duo's mouth. He moved back and brought his hands to Duo's ass, his fingers searching out for the spot that he knew would elicit even more of a response and unlike before he allowed him to leisurely move his hips forward, permitting the slight movement and for his cock to slide between his lips.

"Fuck," Duo swore as Heero's fingers found where he intended, not pressing in but providing additional stimulation as he continued to work his tongue and lips around the dick in his mouth. It made his inclination clear, he figured, that Heero wanted to fuck him. Maybe Duo had made his comment about not being a conquest but still his intention was that he wanted to fulfil those fantasies about his teammate – and all of those involved Duo being the one receiving. Right now Duo was not protesting but as he leaned backwards, ceasing the blowjob like he'd done in the bathroom, he felt Duo's hands try to encourage him to go back to his task.

"Damn it, you are not doing that again."

Heero shook his head and slid his jeans fully off, taking his grey boxer briefs with them, his own cock demanding attention after having Duo's hands tugging, stroking, and caressing him.

"We've done enough teasing."

Duo seemed to get the hint, bringing his body down onto Heero's and forcing him down towards the bed, grinding their bodies together – the slight aches from the crash now completely forgotten in white hot pleasure as Duo's fingers wrapped around both of their dicks, stroking them in unison and making Heero forget everything about the disastrous weekend that Monte Carlo had become.

Heero pushed Duo off of him despite every part of him wanting for Duo to continue as he had. The touch of his fingers was incredible but he imagined it would be nothing comparable to the feeling of actually fucking him. He looked confused but Heero answered that confusion by walking towards the bathroom and finding his own toiletries, retrieving lube and condoms, taking as little time as possible before joining him back on the bed. He hadn't expected the need for them during the weekend but had learnt that it was better to be prepared for the eventuality. He'd been propositioned too many damn times for him not to be.

When he returned, he saw that Duo had a lazy fist around his own dick, slowly pumping, and it was a damn erotic sight. He paused, depositing the packet of condom within reach and opening the tube of lube, squirting the clear gel onto his fingers, all the time watching the show whether for his benefit or just to relieve some of the pressure building from their previous activities. Hell, it didn't matter as he joined him on the bed, aligning himself on top of Duo, trying to be obvious in his intent without stating that he wanted to fuck him. He kissed him, his lubed fingers drifting, and he inserted the first roughly, to first knuckle, but he hadn't intended to be gentle. He felt Duo throw his head back and groan at the sensation and Heero used his other hand, grabbing Duo's that had been wrapped around his cock and pushing it down to the bed, restraining him.

"I want to fuck you," he said, repeating the words he'd spoken at the Fairmont but this time it wasn't a visual aid to some mutual masturbation. No dirty talking required as he had Duo underneath him, sweaty and damn willing.

"Then do it, Yuy."

"I thought you weren't a conquest?"

He slid another finger, feeling the tension in Duo's breathing, trying to keep the teasing calm tone in his voice despite how easy it was going to be to lose control. Duo's hand went to the back of his head, pulling his face down so they were level, hot breath against his lips and he felt his ragged pants.

"You fuck me. I fuck you. This is how it works."

Heero teased at his lower lip, using his fingers to scissor and stretch, not answering straight away, adding a third finger and keeping their foreheads together.

"You have the stamina?" Heero gritted out.

"Hell, baby, I got the stamina," he said as Heero moved to retrieve the condoms – rubbing his fingers against the expensive sheets to remove some of the stickiness of the lube as he impatiently attempted to rip at it – all hints of tease and finesse gone – and Duo laughed at him. That deep husky chuckle that turned him on as he managed to rip the packet with his teeth, removing it and sliding it on before returning to his position.

"Now go ahead and fuck me like you wanted to."

He wanted to say that he would – that he would fulfil his fantasy of having Duo like this but that it was only one of them – but instead he pressed forward, taking hold of his legs, raising them over his shoulders, and he pushed in, feeling the heat and impossible tightness he'd imagined and it felt far better than those fantasies.

Heero stifled the noises he damn wanted to make and instead, stilled his body, taking a few moments to appreciate the fact that he had his teammate, his rival, the idiot who had knocked him out of the race, underneath him and he was inside him and it felt fucking  _good_.

Maybe Duo didn't want to be another conquest but somehow Heero knew he wasn't – he was more than that. An equal. His rival. Something more than the string of fake girlfriends, models who only cared about sleeping with him, even the convenient relationship with Trowa. He didn't articulate that as he moved back a small amount, pulling his dick out of tight heat in order to push back in with more force, finding a pace that was hard, fast, and one that was bringing him to climax all too quickly.

He didn't worry about being a bad fuck – he knew he wasn't – he could see Duo was enjoying it, feel his hands grabbing at any part of him he could as though holding on for fear of losing himself in the intensity. But he didn't jerk himself off, kept his hands on Heero's sweaty skin, moaning loudly as he figured he must've hit his prostate – the loud "fucking hell" indicating that.

Duo lowered his legs, wrapping them tight around Heero's waist and reached up, grasping roughly at his hair, pulling him downwards so that his lips were near his ear. He heard the harsh breathing but suddenly became aware of another sensation, a finger teasing his ass, searching until it began to press in, the pressure making him acutely aware of what Duo intended to do.

"You wanna come? You wanna come inside me?"

Heero couldn't hold back. Those words, used once before on the Fairmont's roof were his damn undoing as he felt his dick twitch inside Duo before his release, hot and sticky inside latex, the finger pushing in, the pleasure of orgasm making him ignore any discomfort it may cause to be stretched and prepared for Duo to fuck him. It had been a while.

Still inside Duo, he felt the finger push further in, the dual sensation of the tight heat around his over sensitive cock and the slick digit in his ass making his moan louder than he usually let himself during sex. He pulled out, leaning back on his heels, the finger slipping for a moment, and he removed the condom, tying it off before throwing it to the floor. He was sure the maids of Monte Carlo would wake up to worse things that a few used condoms and didn't give a fuck as Duo knelt up so that they were both kneeling on the bed, chest to chest, face to face, sharing a quick crash of lips, open-mouthed kisses.

"On your hands and knees," Duo instructed.

He glared for a second but then felt the finger that had disappeared as he moved returning and he could feel his body responding and he leaned forward, kissed him one more time before complying with the request. It was rare that Heero allowed someone else to have control, rare for someone to have that power over him but then he couldn't deny Duo for some reason, couldn't deny the lips on the back of his neck, the fingers carefully preparing him and touching the spot that made his cock return to a half hard state with each press of fingertip.

Duo fingers left him, stretched enough, and he heard the packet being ripped and thought of the visual image of lubricated latex being slid onto his erection before he felt the insistent pressure that brought with it the slight pain that proved he'd not been fucked for some time.

"Been a while?" Duo asked, teasingly, running his fingers below his body, cupping his balls, stroking his rapidly hardening dick.

"Yeah," Heero said as he ground his jaw, his head lowered towards the bed.

"Then I'll make it good for you."

He did as promised, hands hard on his hips, his body moving rapidly behind him, hands running down his sides, his chest, tweaking nipples briefly before returning to his now fully hard cock – his erection returning on the first hit of prostate and each subsequent contact making him feel too damn much. It was difficult to do anything but submit, push back a little into the man behind him, taking everything he could but letting Duo maintain control unlike he'd let anyone do for so long. He'd dreamed about how Duo would be when he was fucked but right now, he enjoyed being fucked, the lips on his neck and shoulders hot, the cock inside him moving in and out at a punishing rhythm and then the hand stroking him more firmly, with assured tugs, the thumb sliding from base to tip, circling the slit, the head and he felt Duo push as far as he could, heard the laboured breathing and knew he was close to coming. He'd been holding out longer to come so he hadn't expected him to take long but it didn't matter. Every part of him was on fire, every nerve alive in a way that he didn't feel unless behind the wheel of a Formula 1 car.

"Fuck, you… are… incredible."

Heero grunted unable to respond as he felt those hands hard on his hips pull him towards Duo's dick harder and he felt the shudder of climax from Duo's body as the hand brought him to his pinnacle, cum dripping onto the bed sheets, orgasm rushing through him for the second time in quick succession.

They both took a moment before they moved or said anything until he felt Duo slide out and Heero avoided the wet spots on the bed, turned to lie on his back and watched through heavy lidded eyes as Duo removed the condom and threw it off the side just as uncaring as he did.

"You want me to go?"

He hadn't expected the question and only shook his head. "Do what you want."

Heero thought he'd done like he'd done with other people before, been cold and indifferent after he got what he wanted, but Duo didn't seem to care about his tone and just laid down beside him.

"I still don't like you," Duo said.

"I don't care."

Duo laughed and turned over onto his side and Heero looked at him from the corner of his eye. "But ya know…" he murmured, reaching out to trace a finger around his nipple "we could always do this again. Ya know, if you're interested."

Instead of responding verbally, he turned onto his own side and kissed Duo more gently than he'd done previously, using the pad of his thumb to move away sweat soaked bangs from the sides of his face.

"Just don't crash me out of the fucking race next time," Heero said.

That signature smirk tugged at the corner of Duo's lips and he chuckled. "Yeah, next time I promise I'll only fuck you over in private, 'Ro. Not on the track."

 


	9. Epilogue - Race Day in Montreal

They were both dripping in champagne, the typical celebration of race victory mandating that they shake up the bottles and then spray them over the crowd and the other people on the podium. And as they were teammates, well, Heero had decided to use his entire bottle to drown Duo in, spraying it first in his face before taking one swig and then dumping the entire contents over his head. Duo had not been entirely passive – he sprayed it in his face but took a longer drag from his own bottle – but that showed the rookie in Heero's opinion. He'd been on the podium plenty of times during his career and the taste of expensive champagne no longer had damn appeal. It was only Duo's third time.

Bangs heavy in his eyes, wet with champagne, they took one final photograph on the podium, Heero centre, the Japanese flag behind him, Duo stepping to his right side as second place and Chang on his left as the third placing driving. He felt Duo's arm slide around him and he replicated it on both sides so that it was the typical "friendly" picture of the three top drivers. He didn't allow himself to show any emotion or anything beyond his pleasure at his own victory as the international press took the pictures and then they were done on the podium – Heero reaching down to grab the first place trophy of the Canadian Grand Prix in Montreal and his sponsor hat that he'd taken off during his national anthem out of respect and then discarded entirely as he sprayed champagne.

It was the Canadian Grand Prix in Montreal, the first weekend since his disastrous race in Monte Carlo, the first time he'd been back to the particular circuit that he'd crashed at in the previous season and this time the race had been much more successful as he dried off some of the alcohol with an offered towel and followed Chang down off the podium and towards the press conference that would begin in mere moments. He knew Duo was following him; he'd only managed to say that he'd driven well in the brief weigh-in prior to arriving at the podium as he didn't want to indicate anything else in front of the cameras. Duo had made a comment regarding performance that Heero's only response was to stare at him unsure whether it was a sexual innuendo or not. It had been innocuous but damn, it didn't seem that way when accompanied by  _that_ particular look and Duo's hair sticking to his face due to sweat, looking exactly as Heero knew he did after they'd fucked.

It seemed fucking the rivalry out of their systems had worked. Or perhaps the crash had maybe taught both of them something about their driving styles. Monte Carlo had been a disaster for Winner Racing – there had been meetings at HQ – but even while they were being reprimanded or told that they couldn't act as they had that weekend, they had acted on friendly terms which confused the team management and they took their revised attitudes as an improvement. Heero felt smug knowing that the team didn't know the reason they were on better terms, that Duo had stayed the night in his hotel suite and that they continued the activities of the previous night the next morning in the large Jacuzzi tub his suite had. For someone who'd had plenty of sexual encounters, it had still been on his list of things to do and it seemed that Duo had no objections to the suggestion of being wet, slippery and naked. Neither did he object to sneaking off at HQ to blow each other. It seemed the arrangement worked damn well. They hadn't pissed each other off, Heero had been focused all weekend and now they were exchanging casual glances, Heero looking over his shoulder to catch his teammate's eye.

They had no time prior to the press conference but he communicated silently – that after it was done, when they would be spending the brief spell of down time in their trailers, they'd continue the casual sex arrangement that had been initiated during their weekend in Monte Carlo. Duo only gave him a small wink and he knew that after the press and the interviews and all the things he had to do, they'd have a chance to be alone together.

It took hours for it to happen, for Heero to be in his trailer – his temporary accommodation on a race day – readying himself to leave the track and make the journey homewards, first class flights booked so that he didn't have to remain in Montreal overnight as the team wanted to start doing some testing early Monday for further improvement to the car.

The knock on his trailer was loud, two loud knocks that perhaps were meant to be some kind of signal but it didn't matter as Heero opened it, looking out briefly to see if any press or fans lingered before he let Duo enter. It was hours after the race, the teams ready to leave, mechanics dismantling cars and the small town that set up around any race was about to be gone. Few people were around and he could easily justify his teammate visiting him after gaining the one/two positions for Winner Racing.

"Nice win, Yuy." Duo stepped inside and looked around his trailer though he imagined his was identical to the other trailers of all the other drivers. Heero closed his door and then turned to Duo who was giving him that little smile he'd come to like. "You were really somethin'."

"You could've been more competitive."

Duo shrugged and approached. "Yeah, well, there's always next race weekend… Plus team orders and all. They wanted you to win this weekend. And as I don't want my ass fired, I went along with it."

"So you're saying…" Heero let the end of the sentence hang in the air as he felt a hand slide into his hair, strangely matted from the champagne that his teammate had sprayed into it.

"I'm saying that this weekend, I followed team orders and I was told that you had to win. That you got the better pit stops and the better strategy and I'd take second."

As he spoke, Duo's face inched closer so that he could feel hot breath against his lips and Heero found it difficult to concentrate on the words with him in such close proximity. There wasn't a bed but the couch that spread across the entire back of the trailer would make a damn decent substitution.

"I won. I was four seconds ahead. I outpaced you."

"Yeah, well, 'Ro… you take this weekend as a win and let's see what happens at Silverstone, huh?"

Before he could respond, Duo closed the short distance between them to press their lips together and as it had been over a week since their experience in the bathroom at Winner Racing HQ and with the high of a race victory still coursing through him, it was difficult not to respond to the heat of his mouth, to the tilt his head and the part his lips, to reach out and touch the braid still damp whether from the champagne or a shower and find his body in direct contact with the one he intended to re-familiarise himself with.

As distracting as the kiss was, as hot as Duo's body felt against his own, and despite how quickly he could feel the rushing heat in his groin bringing him to hardness, he still pulled away from the kiss.

"You were told to let me win?" he asked as the words had sunk in despite the fact his body didn't want to talk. His body wanted to use the leftover adrenalin that was coursing through his veins from the win to do something better and that would include Duo naked, sweaty and underneath him. Yet a part of him wanted to damn know whether team orders had come into play, whether Duo would've been more competition if the boss hadn't decided to order him to not to cause too many obstacles to Heero's race strategy.

Duo just sighed loudly. "'Ro, seriously, do you wanna fuck or discuss race strategy?"

The casual bluntness of the words made the decision easy in Heero's head. As much as he wanted to know whether Duo had been told to drive more conservatively as the second driver in the team, whether he'd been "allowed" to win as that's what the team wanted, he didn't care right now. He had the race win, he was top of the World Championship and however he'd got it, he'd driven his damn best and erased the memories of last year's crash, his dad's looks after his injury and the last race weekend's fuck up in Monte Carlo. And Duo was standing inches from him, a hand still on the back of his head, his eyes questioning and his lips set in a straight line that was too tempting not to kiss away.

"Let's fuck."

"Good. I was kinda hoping you'd say that," he said, that seductive deep tone to his voice. "Hell, we can totally discuss how I'm gonna kick your ass at Silverstone next weekend later, if you want."

"You can dream, Duo."

Duo laughed and there were no more words about the race then – the fumbling of clothing and the removal of shirts full of team logos, the finding of lube and condoms was only accompanied by swearing and teasing as hard dicks met and sweaty skin slid together until they were a tumble of limbs on the trailer's couch.

Team orders may have let him win but as Heero sat back on the couch, letting Duo's body grind down on him, lips meeting, teeth clashing, it didn't matter. A win was a win and  _this_ – being inside Duo, tasting his sweaty skin, lapping at his throat and listening to every "fuck" that spilled from his mouth – was better than the champagne and the damn trophy.

And as his hands grasped Duo's hips, encouraging the movement, he smirked against his hot flesh. Yeah, Duo could dream. Duo could try to beat him at the British Grand Prix but he was beginning to really like their new found rivalry – it seemed fucking out of their systems had worked for him after all.


End file.
